


Chain Gang

by AuntyA



Series: Lost Boys [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:56:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyA/pseuds/AuntyA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve needs to get something back that he thought he left in a safe place.<br/>Mission difficulty level - suicide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> This story builds on the sad results of the last chapter of Shit Luck (Chapter 5)  
> ['And my heart has slowly dried up'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3227636/chapters/7575101)

The guy had a chain wrapped around his waist. Standing there, Steve blinked but didn’t let it slow him down. He continued, “I’m looking for a few good men Chief. I have a job I need some help with. You came recommended to me pretty highly.” He kept his screwed up hand in his jacket pocket.  Steve still wasn’t comfortable with the fact that he couldn't heal, that those fingers wouldn't eventually be back.

Chief smiled, waving the cigar in his right hand around. He had taken a drag but didn’t seem to exhale any smoke. It reminded Steve of a movie from the early sixties he had watched on Netflicks one night in a shitty hotel. One of Bucky’s recommendations when they were on the run, ‘Requiem for a Heavyweight’. He didn't think that was necessarily a good omen for the near future.

“Not sure about if we qualify as exactly good men, Captain, but if you want us for that job you’ve been talking about we’re here for you.” He waved his tattooed hand back towards the bar parking lot. Steve could see maybe forty guys standing around bikes in front of the restaurant. All wearing gang colours, patched members, many of them carrying holstered weapons or baseball bats. Some wearing kerchiefs to hide their faces, others with hoodies or baseball caps pulled low.

“I understand you’ve been having some issues lately Captain. Personnel loss and some personal damage. I can relate I think.” Chief struck his own thigh lightly with the cane in his left hand. Steve heard a hollow metal sound. “And I'm not sure if you heard about our disagreement with another club in this very spot a couple of weeks back. It's hard to lose people around you to death or to jail. And sometimes you lose a part of yourself too.”

Steve marveled again at the new modern times he was living in where at lunchtime, an entire biker gang could assemble fully armed, in a strip mall, outside of a family-style restaurant. “Can we talk somewhere? Somewhere a little more private maybe?”

Chief smiled again, “Sure Captain, let’s head inside for a drink and we can talk more about the details of your job.” He waved over two of his lieutenants, “Keep an eye out here, Doc, and you too Chaika.” The two guys nodded and moved to stand in front of the restaurant door facing the parking lot. He added, “Hey, Ticket you’re with me inside.”

A large barrel chested shirtless man in overalls and a uniform name badge with ‘Booth’ embroidered on it in script, strolled on over, stroking his scraggly beard with one hand, “Yo boss.” He grinned a gap toothed smile at Steve offering a huge hand as he introduced himself. “I’m David Booth, but everyone calls me Ticket of course.”

Reflexively, Steve offered his damaged hand for a shake. That was a mistake. Damn it, he needed to avoid shaking hands entirely. After releasing the massive paw, he cradled his aching three fingered hand, shoving it back in his pocket.

As he followed a bit behind them, he realized Ticket was carrying a baseball bat into the restaurant.

++++++

Steve sat in a booth. Chief and Ticket were talking with a ponytailed waitress who was dressed in what looked like a school girl uniform two sizes too small. They were discussing pitchers of beer, nothing new for Steve.

He took his right hand out of his jacket pocket and stared at it in his lap. Thumb, forefinger and middle finger only. He was missing his ring finger and pinkie. He turned his mangled hand over. A chunk of his palm was missing too, a thick ridge of scar tissue crossing his lifeline. He could still fire a gun, throw a knife, although his grip he guessed might be compromised.

Could he punch? Probably, nothing wrong with the strength in his arm. The wound had already healed but there was no indication that the missing fingers would restore themselves. He rubbed the fingers of his other hand over the scar remembering the fight. He sighed and put his hand back in his jacket pocket, his attention returning to the guys at the table.

Apparently in addition to the chain, Chief was also carrying two holsters underneath his leather vest. Steve could only barely see the butt of the grip on one, looked like a Sig Sauer. Ticket seemed to only have the bat, but maybe knives? His knuckles were like grapes, his sausage fingered hands darkened and swollen. Battered ears and a flattened nose. A fighter then.

Ticket turned to him first, “So what brings you to us? I’m thinking somehow it isn’t to join up.” He laughed, a barking sound. “Although you don't have quite so many fancy friends these days as you used to after you defrosted.”

The waitress set three pitchers and some glasses on the table, leaning low. Then she sashayed away back to the bar area. Steve sighed, “True, SHIELD is done. We lost Iron Man and Hawkeye. And lost ready access to transport and weapons. I’d say these days I can only rely on individuals instead of organizations. You might say the team is a bit..., “ he paused to pour a beer from one of the pitchers using his left hand, “diffused.” He took a quick sip, careful to use his left hand also for the glass.

“It’s a more organic team approach. Apparently they call it asymmetrical warfare these days.” He shrugged. “Harder to ‘assemble’ the team so quickly, but easier to avoid a situation that will fatally shut us down.” He hung his head a bit, staring at his beer. “You know I just really can not get caught until I get him back out.”

Chief looked at him over his pint glass with a beady eye. “Seriously? That’s the best you can do? I was expecting a flowery patriotic speech out of you.” Ticket laughed.

Chief continued, “I don't really give a shit why you want us to do anything. You need your buddy back, we’ll help you. You are an original celebrity badass and I like you. Whatever.” He lifted his glass in a mock toast to Steve.

Steve cleared his throat, “Okay, so you trust me? Should I trust you?”

Ticket spoke up, “We don’t fucking trust anyone. Helping you sounds like it may make us some money. I’m sure not recommending we patch you in for this. It’s a business arrangement yes? We’re honorable guys, good for our word. Plus we have the manpower and connections this time, and we can be your armoury.”

Steve tapped the table with his left hand and asked, “So you’re familiar with the location I was interested in?”

Chief snorted, “This isn’t the states, we don’t really have secret prisons here. There is only the one federal military prison. Everyone in Edmonton knows where it is, what goes on there and we used to know who was in it too. They never have that many guests at a time. Looks like your friend didn’t make it on the guest list though. Was that you? Did you work some deal with that bitch running it to keep him off the list?”

Steve sipped his beer and didn’t answer.

“Okay I get it, no matter.” Chief said. “We’ll work around it. I have some ideas I’d like to bounce off you.” Ticket coughed.

Chief’s head snapped up. “Hey beautiful, don’t sneak up on us like that or you may not get a good tip.” His hand snaked out and grabbed the passing waitress’s arm. She flicked her wrist and Chief let go in surprise with a yelp of pain.

Steve looked at the waitress a little more closely. He smiled warmly. “Widow! I didn't recognize you, it’s a little early for Halloween don't ‘cha think? Brittany Spears costume was it? I loved that song. Are you free at the moment?”

Natasha glared at Chief and Steve, “I’ve been here for hours and you have to look at my face to recognize me?”

Chief smiled expansively waving at the booth. “Have a seat with us now that we’ve been introduced properly Black Widow. Any friend of Steve’s is a friend of ours at the moment.”

She paused and then slid into the booth next to Steve, facing Chief and Ticket.

Steve shrugged out of his jacket and offered it to her with a questioning look on his face. She snorted, “Ok prude, I’ll put it on.” She slipped it on over her tiny crop top and then took out the ponytail, shaking her hair out back into her normal bob.

Ticket poured her a beer, handing it over, then he started talking. “We were just getting set to discuss some tricks we’ll need to get a friend of Steve’s out of a jam.”

Natasha set her jaw, “I’m aware of both the friend and the location.” Her voice was dripping with ice. “I think it’s impossible to save him but Steve is a moron and already lost a number of things important to him and to me. I have nothing else on my agenda for the moment.”

Chief crowed, “I’m having a drink with the Black Widow and she is pissed at someone other than me. Never thought that would be possible. Also did you just say you were out of work?”

“Steve?” Natasha turned to him. “Tell me again why you are having this conversation with these idiots?”

Steve’s face was grim. “They are my best local option at the moment and I will have to move forward with that in mind if I want this to succeed. You know that this action cannot actually take place without their assistance. And I can’t give up.”

He turned in his seat to face her fully. “If you don’t want to be involved or you cannot see a successful outcome, please feel free to leave. I want you here but I need you to want to be here.”

Natasha tossed her head and snapped, “I’m here okay? Isn’t that enough? I always thought you were a pompous jerk. Don’t be a jerk today. Don’t question my motives. I don't have to share my motivation and I won’t.”

“You are awfully bossy today Widow. I’ll ignore that outburst for the moment. I need to get the background info, scope and risks. And I need you.” Steve looked her in the eye.

“Korotshe Steve-chik.” She took a sip of her beer and stared him down. Steve dropped his gaze but smiled. Chief and Ticket sat back with their beers.

“You guys better be more professional when we are out there and this job is going down man.” Ticket put some papers on the table and smoothed them out. “Let’s have a look at a map the old fashioned way for my old fashioned friend Steve here.”

Steve took a drink from his pint and then leaned forward to check the map. He reached for a pen and pad in his shirt pocket. He held the silver fountain pen awkwardly in his injured right hand.

He pointed with the pen, “We came in this way initially I think, but I was in the back of a windowless transport with him. He was bleeding out, so I missed most of the scenery.”

Ticket tapped the map and an architectural cross-section schematic of the prison building interior that had appeared on the table. He started asking Steve endless questions, sounding less like a biker and more like a cop.

“What gear was used by the guards outside the facility when you got out of the truck?”

“Did you deliver him personally to her or did someone take him from you to bring in?”

“Do you remember how long you were in the elevator?”

“What did they do to his arm when they took you inside?”

“Did any staff use their ID numbers in front of you?”

 “What gear were the guards using when you entered the elevator?”

“Were you with him in the holding area?”

“Was the hallway long or short?”

“Did you hear any doors open or close?”

“Did you leave him with Rahc or with a guard?”

“Were you in her office or a processing area?”

++++++

Steve tried to answer the questions as best as he could remember but eventually it was too much for him. Staring at the table he asked for a break and then left the restaurant without waiting for an answer. 

As he stepped outside into the parking lot, he noticed one of the guys Chief had left outside, standing off to the side of the front entrance smoking a thin dark cigar.

“Chaika was it?” Steve asked the guy, “I was hoping to bum a smoke, could I buy one off you?” 

“Sure buddy, here just take it.” His voice was low with no trace of an accent. His hair was short in a perfectly level flat top, he was blonde everywhere, stubble and eyebrows so light they almost disappeared. He was tough solid, but with a potbelly showing under his open leather jacket. “Need a light too?”

Steve bent down a little for the light, holding the cigar in his left hand, took a deep drag. “Thanks, nice cheroots you’re smoking. You Russian?”

“Ukrainian man, big difference.” Chaika shrugged, “But that doesn't matter here. Didn’t think you’d be a smoker.”

Steve exhaled a cloud of blue smoke, “I’ve been around. I just didn’t think anyone smoked any more.”

“These are actually Dutch, we have a business partner in Leiden so he sends us care packages. What’s up inside?” Chaika nodded at the front doors of the restaurant, “You need anything special?”

Steve looked down at the ground, “Your buddy Ticket is just a little too intense for me today. I think I need to take our conversation somewhere else I’m getting a headache. The restaurant is a bit too open for my liking.”

“Ticket is often like that. Like a dog with a chew toy if he finds something interesting. I guess he finds you interesting.” Chaika grinned at him. “That’s a good thing if we are going to be working together on something fucked up.” They smoked for awhile in silence, watching the traffic go by on the busy main road.

Then Chaika flicked his cigar butt away and said, “Oh and Rogers? I haven’t been told you can leave yet so I’d encourage you to go back inside for a bit when you’re done with your smoke.” Steve only now noticed Chaika was wearing a comm earpiece.

Chaika, opened his jacket a little, intentions very clear. Steve caught sight of again twin-holstered pistols. “Hunh, interesting. Guess I will then. Thanks for the break.” That tough guy posturing didn't scare him but he thought probably he should go see what was up with the Widow.


	2. Hold it steady right there

They were outside the restaurant now, and the majority of the loitering bike crew had already left in a dust cloud and a roar of exhaust pipes. The rest of them were standing in a loose group deciding what to do next.

Chief and Chaika were smoking their cigars, standing off to the side and having a conversation too low to be overheard. Chaika had his cell in his other hand and was relaying instructions after consulting with Chief.

Ticket was talking to the Widow, they were looking at his maps spread out on the hood of a car. She was pointing at locations with her car keys and Ticket had his hands in his pockets, nodding in agreement. She turned to Steve and asked him where he was staying.

“I don't really have a place here in Edmonton, I’m kinda on the run you know.” Steve didn’t bother to even look sheepish.

Natasha said, “You on your bike? Then follow me out of here. You can stay with me. I have a place on Riverpark Road, it’s not far from here. We need to talk Steve, you and I before we connect with… ”

Steve interrupted, “You have a safe house in Edmonton? I find that somehow disconcerting that you can find me so predictable. How did you know?”

Natasha answered, “No I’m...”

Chief interrupted her, “No fucking way Widow. Riverpark Road? You have a place in Fort Saskatchewan? What the hell are you doing there? For a spy you have a really shitty real estate agent. Shit. That is hilarious!”

She glared at him. “The safe house, which will no longer be a safe house now that you know about it, is exactly 26 minutes from the intended location and that military building. River access if we needed it or maybe getting in or out on 211 NW…”

“You think a lot. No shit you are 30 minutes from the institution, everything in Edmonton is 30 minutes from everything else.” Ticket snorted.

Chief dropped his cigar butt and ground it out with the boot toe of his good leg. He gestured with his cane. “Let’s get going. You guys going over there now? Doc will drive me.” Doc was sitting in a black shiny pickup with a handicapped sticker parked close to the front doors.

Chaika was sitting in the car they had reviewed the maps on, still on his cell. He looked up and waved a hand at them. Chief said “He’ll meet us there.”

Ticket nodded, clapped Steve on the back hard and started over to a small row of bikes still parked by the restaurant. Steve nodded to Natasha, “I actually took the bus here, ‘cause my bike stands out a bit. I left it parked in a safe place. I want to be anonymous here. Until I get him back.”

She looked at him narrowly, “Alright, I’ll let you sit in my car this time. The Black Veil know where they are going. Apparently they spend a lot of time in Fort Saskatchewan.”

“Remind me, what’s the Black Veil?” Steve said, confused. She rolled her eyes at him. “Steve, man, keep up. Those guys you have been talking with for a couple hours? Those guys are the Veil. Affiliated with the Vietnamese gang here surprisingly.” She started walking to a bunch of vehicles, “Anyway, whatever, we can talk in the car. Let’s get out of here.”

She unlocked the car for them and got in. Steve chuckled to himself opening the door awkwardly with his left hand, imagine that, the Black Widow was driving a Honda Fit hybrid.

++++++

Natasha’s house was a non-descript suburban townhouse. They sat around on her cheap rec room furniture as she rummaged in a closet that had been turned into a high tech secured walk-in safe. She had a bin with all their cell phones in it sitting on the rug and another with their weapons by the door to the backyard.

Steve stood in the closet looking at a file she had taken out of a fireproof filing cabinet with medical supplies on the top. The shelving housed a small stack of gold bars, passports, a bag of banded stacks of assorted currencies, weapons and ammo in clear plastic tubs. He picked up one of the stacks of bills from the top of the bag. “Seriously? Zlotys?”

“I’m allowed to make one bad decision in my life no?” She turned with a pile of brown accordion files in her hands. They took the material out of the safe to review on the coffee table.

Doc was still out in the truck. He was a man of few words and Steve hadn’t yet heard him speak. Chaika was down to a leather vest and empty holsters, writing in a small notebook. He had a calculator resting on the arm of his chair. Chief was massaging his leg and having a vodka neat. Ticket was apparently having a nap on the chaise, his massive chest slowly moving up and down, lightly snoring.

Steve and Natasha started again to methodically go through the access points and potential support numbers now with the material from the safe.

“You kidding me? Where are we going to get this amount of armed effective support?” Steve ran his left hand through his hair, his right hand was cramping from holding the pen.

Chief, leaned in, “Well you may not know about the economy in Alberta but we have a shit ton of ‘support’. I have at least a hundred and fifty guys I can call on today for this.” He smiled, “Not just my own Black Veil guys. I also have a strong link with the Viet here in Edmonton to call on. They are like fucking ninjas. Also boilermakers from Fort McMurray if you need them.”

“Boilermakers? Another affiliated biker gang?” Steve asked.

“No man, actual boilermakers. They are all from Newfoundland or Ontario, far away from home. They get bored out here working in the oilsands and they like to fight. They already make good money so they’re in it for the action. The Brotherhood has a lodge here in Edmonton.”

“So of course you are up in their business then?” Natasha looked pointedly at him.

“Of course, I’m in everyone’s business.” He reached over to the map, “We have a ton of guys. They could be here,” pointing at the satellite image, “and here to get us in and potentially out again. What’s your opinion about this store here?”

Natasha asked “That dog grooming place here? No really? What happens when forty armed guys show up in that store?” Chief snickered, “It’s my sister’s place and she needs a renovation.”

Natasha said “I’ll take it under advisement.” Steve said, “She means ‘no thanks’ when she says that.” Chief leaned back again tapping his chin with a forefinger.

Natasha asked, “Weapons? Who’s ammo is being used and how much?” Chief gestured over to Chaika who looked up from his phone. “They all come with. You get assorted guys and their toys. You need a lot for this one. Probably need as much as they’ve got. Additionally I recommend taser batons.” He went back to his calculations.

Steve, Natasha and Chief were discussing actions and reactions.

“If we knock out the electricity, she’ll lock down and we’ll all be in the dark.”

“Steve, she’ll lock it down the second we appear regardless.” The widow put her palm on the map. “You aren't seriously thinking of a helicopter like those escapes in Quebec. Only a choice if you need your equipment destroyed on entry. She’ll just blow it up.”

 “I like the idea of this river here coming into play, Widow, your thoughts?”

“Sure Steve, we urgently need to do a vehicle recon. I need some armour to feel safe with this one. Not sure about the river, no boats please on the exit.”

Ticket spoke with his eyes still closed, “What’s plan B? I think I’d like that plan better. Can we just leave him there?”

“You getting him out in a laundry bin? Food service trucks? Motorcycles? What?” Chaika sounded a bit testy.

Chief said, “I actually already have someone working on the inside already in position. We need to give them some support and they can assist if we do this correctly.”

Steve shot him a look, “Shouldn’t we have started with this info instead of trying this cold?”

“You know I also have the guy who cuts the lawn for the location. Don’t look at me like that, prisons need lawn care just like anyplace else.” Chief looked into the bottom of his empty glass. “When are we all gonna to talk money?”

Steve groaned. Ticket spoke up again, “So Steve, this op is reminding me of something I worked on in the seventies. You sure you aren't working with the CIA now?”

Natasha stood up and started walking towards the stairs to the kitchen, “I’m getting food.”

Ticket called after her, “Got any fruit? I’ll have a banana if you have one. Or coffee, coffee I take black.”

++++++

“Now that the roadshow has left, tell me where did you even get these guys?”

Natasha was sitting on the rec room floor, head back on the edge of the sofa. It was early in the morning but Steve was still sitting crouched over the coffee table shuffling his maps and papers, taking notes with his scarred hand. The Black Veil had taken off leaving them alone in the house.

“They seem to be pretty useful. I found them through a mutual friend, now departed.” Steve looked up at her over his reading glasses. “How old do you think Chief is?”

“I don’t know, maybe 55 or 60?”

“I knew his dad. We worked together on some stuff. Chief’s last name is Falsworth.”

Natasha shook her head, “You have the weirdest life. You know that?”

“I’ve certainly worked with worse teams. And these guys are so polite for bikers.”

“Well they are Canadian but still.” Natasha complained. “Using the guy who cuts the grass? Staging from a pet grooming place down the street from the facility?” She grimaced. “Seems too small time to work.”

“I think that’s why it going to go okay.” Steve shrugged, “Well, also because the plan is so small time that it will fool them. Plus, you know I don't have any other ideas for breaking in and getting him out of there.”

“The Black Veil has a surprising amount of access.” Natasha uncurled from the floor and came over to join Steve on the sofa.

“And weapons, they have vehicles, armor, weapons, cash. I’m not complaining.”

“But I have a question. Is it just Chief or is it that Chaika in charge.”

“I think Chaika is more than a lieutenant but Chief is definitely the president of the Veil.” Steve looked at his notes again, “I read it on the internet.”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “And why did the Veil offer to help you in the first place? What are they going to get out of it?”

“Well, once we are done, they’ll get a lot of money from someone who wants Rahc’s head in a box.”

“That seems out of character for you Steve, you’re becoming more 20th century by the minute. So why won’t Rahc give him back? She has to know that there is a big risk here. You’re pretty motivated. I thought you two had an agreement when you dropped him off in the first place.”

“Well, I didn't keep my end of the bargain. So she’s started to rent him out again for cash she can use for her side projects.”

“What did you screw up? What was the assignment that you failed?” Natasha had sat up straight and was looking at him intently.

“I didn't kill you.” Steve took off his glasses and looked back at her calmly.


	3. I committed crime Lord

Bucky sat in the lobby of the Fairmount Macdonald hotel. He had on a suit that fit him, black boots that felt heavy enough to have steel toes and shanks and his hair had been tied back. He had glasses on when he raised his right hand tentatively to check. His left arm was in a dark silk sling. The arm did not seem to be functioning properly at the moment. 

He sat quietly in the busy lobby checking his surroundings. Hotel security present, desk staffed with concierge, bellman and clerk staff off to the side. Cleaner down the hallway to the elevators. Large party of mostly male guests milled around outside the entrance smoking. A blond man stood off to the side of the group near the bellman’s station, smoking a small cigar.

Bucky’s eyes slid over the crowd looking for his target. He couldn't feel weapons on him. Perhaps a knife or if he was in luck he might have a set of throwing knives, in the boots perhaps.

He checked the conference folder on the bench next to him. Typical eastern European energy giants were the company names as headliners of this event. He flipped the folder open and riffled through some of the papers. Yes, there he was. Serge Balayev. His target was in a headshot photo on the glossy agenda. He supposed to be speaking at 11 about the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan pipeline in the Empire Ballroom.

Bucky wondered idly if there was a stand in for the speech, maybe a break for drinks would be in order as Balayev was not going to make his time slot. He looked up from his folder and straight into the unmasked eyes of A-054. The guard, now in plain clothes, was standing in the lobby dressed casually and on his cell, but Bucky recognized him immediately. Bucky shrugged and looked back out into the lobby. The next time he looked A-054 had melted into the crowd.

Bucky was wearing a necktie. It felt incredibly strange to be so normally dressed. He stood up and started to move towards the conference ballrooms down the hall. He held the folder awkwardly in his hand as he walked, finally deciding to tuck it flat into the sling. He patted his pockets smoothly with his right hand unobtrusively, looking for weapons. Great, a garrote wire in a pocket. He guessed they didn't trust him with anything else. He'd need to improvise, Serge didn't look like he was easily cowed by piano wire.

Bucky stood in front of the registration desk and producing some identification that was in his pants pocket received back a conference ID pass. He leaned forward so the redheaded woman at the table could put it over his head. He held himself stiffly from flinching when the loop passed over his bent head.

He thought he thanked her in French. She smiled with so many teeth gesturing with an immaculately manicured hand towards the Wedgwood Room where coffee was being served before the conference began. The room was full of mostly men and many languages talking energy sector as large screens on either side of the podium showed videos of giant yellow trucks driving around dark and dirty open-pit mines.

He stood at the back of the room looking for his target. It was harder to find Balayev than he first thought in the crowd of dark haired thick-necked Eastern Europeans and stocky white haired Brits. He saw him finally, a big guy in an expensive blue tailored shirt and blue designer jeans, slicked back hair, sitting at a round table covered with a white tablecloth. 

With a vague aura of menace, Balayev was talking animatedly with a thin nervous lieutenant on an iPad, surrounded by papers flowing out of a chic pale leather briefcase, coffees and two cellphones on the table. A large muscular man sat at the table, carrying with an underarm holster and exuding definite security vibes. Balayev’s wrists, heavy with an ugly pricey gold watch and gold chain link bracelets, created shapes in the air as he talked to the hovering lieutenant about large infrastructure projects and expensive real estate developments in Baku.

Bucky neared the table, leaning forward comfortably, right hand light on Serge's shoulder, he spoke gently in Azerbaijani with florid formal apologies for the interruption and slid into a chair. Offering a thick white business card also from the pocket, Bucky saw that this time he was pretending to be an attache to the Azjerbijan Prime Minister. At Bucky's first calm platitudes buttressed by the proffered card, the hired muscle relaxed, mistakenly identifying Bucky as a fellow countryman, only one arm and no threat. 

++++++

Bucky left Balayev's cooling corpse slumped face down on the glossy washroom floor. The necktie was tied tightly around his hands behind him, silk sling stuffed in his mouth, the wire garrote bitten deeply into his bruised neck. No knives for the assignment this time. Bucky shoved the bulky body to the side and into a toilet stall with his booted foot. 

Then he washed his hands slowly looking at his clean shaven reflection in the bright bathroom lights. Balayev didn't come to this conference to die. He had come here to make some money, fuck a hooker or five, drink expensive booze and enjoy the good life. He tried to pay Bucky off.

Balayev hadn't understood that Bucky had no idea or interest in why he was being killed or who had hired him. He had no idea actually. Balayev had asked, and fought and repeatedly asked him for information. Bucky just had no information to give.

He found that he appeared here and there to complete an assignment and then he'd be picked up and returned to the jumpsuit, tazer batons, manacles and grey slippers of prison without any explanation. Sometimes in this same city, but sometimes assignment locations requiring a helicopter or an airplane to return.

When he was out, he sometimes caught a glimpse of a handler or minder following him like a shadow, never involved in the action never assisting, just monitoring him like A-054 earlier.

He had not yet failed an assignment but he imagined that if he did, his minder would put him down immediately and brutally. He paused to smooth his hair back and replace his glasses from his pocket. It was a good look, only a small bruise on one knuckle and a lost button on his right shirt cuff. Manageable.

He swung his left arm tentatively. It was functional but not flexing properly. He could hold something but not grip tightly. The arm felt heavier than before. The fingers were also just not operational for fine motor actions. He couldn’t fix it or even investigate what was going on with the motors. The arm was always deactivated immediately on pickup when he was returned to the prison.

He wondered if Steve was also taken out for assignments like he was. He hadn’t seen Steve since the night they arrived at the prison. He turned to leave the marble washroom. He was supposed to meet his pickup in the park below the hotel and if he was late this time perhaps Rahc really would have him killed.

++++++

Bucky held the conference ID badge with his right hand and then thoughtfully tossed it into the river. He continued to walk along the boardwalk below the hotel. The instructions had only said to meet in the park, not indicating a specific point.

He stopped at the end of the boardwalk with black metal benches and sat down, right arm across the back of the bench, booted feet stretched out in front. He dropped the cell phone he had in his ungloved right hand, from Balayev, into the bushes behind the bench. Simple smooth movements are the easiest to cover up. The best lies are normal and believable responses. They could find him. He was tired of this assignment. He had just a few seconds to close his eyes.

“Winter” the deep voice said. Bucky’s head snapped up. “Yes sir.” He answered in English with a rusty voice, reflexively moving into a crouched half sitting position on the bench. A-054 in full gear stood in front of him on the boardwalk. “Let’s go Winter.” They walked out together.

A-054 had activated a blocking device so no-one could use a comms device, take photos, use a cell or send texts near them. The path above the boardwalk had a few cyclists. No-one paid any attention to them as they walked to the van.

Bucky took off the suit coat and half turned to the guard. A-054 pulled Bucky’s right arm straight and administered the shot through his shirt. Bucky climbed into the back of the van and lay down on the cool floor of the vehicle. The van started and began to move off. He didn’t care where they were going only that they were leaving.

++++++

“Winter” Rahc’s voice was like steel in his ear. “I understand that you completed your assignment today. Excellent.” Bucky opened his eyes and kept his head steady. He was in the processing area, back in the jumpsuit, standing up.

The small woman in uniform was in front of him again. “Yes sir.” He said. She reached up and cuffed him in the side of the head, it felt like being hit with an iron bar. She hissed at him “Madame will do.” “Yes madame.” He parroted back at her.

She turned, he stared down at the chignon on the back of her sleek head.  She began speaking to someone on the radio attached to her uniform epaulet. “S-4, Mr. Winter is ready to return to his room. We are in the orange room. Please collect him.”

She turned back to Bucky, “Thank you for your work today. That Serge was a large annoying problem for a client. Baku is so far from here, a cosmopolitan tourist paradise for sure. But luckily he was right here under our noses, so no complex travel claim was required.” She smiled and clapped her hands together.

She moved closer to hold his metal left forearm in both hands lightly touching the blinking bracelet that had been replaced on his arm. “I understand this is not working properly. Is that so?” “Yes madame.”

She moved her hands down to his left hand, turning it this way and that. “Touch your thumb with your fingers.” “Yes madame.” Bucky tried to but the hand wasn’t cooperating. She smacked the back of his hand. “Stop.” He stopped. “Yes madame.”

She dropped his arm as a guard buzzed the outer door to be let in. She paused and moved to the inner door. “S-4 you’ll have to take Mister Winter to his room and wait for the repair. Leave him in the transport position while you wait.“ The guard nodded and moved over to the processing area bench. He manhandled Bucky into the extreme stress position used for moving prisoners in hallways and attached the manacles and chains.

Bucky worked at staying silent. Were they really going to repair the arm? It would be difficult for them to control him fully if that happened. Perhaps Rahc had made an error this time.

++++++

Steve had the car seat back and was watching a movie on Natasha’s iPad. They were waiting for Chief to come back with the directions and timing for the Viet meeting. Natasha’s cell phone began to go crazy. She picked up the phone from the centre console. She swiped through her messages. “Here’s the new one, it’s from Chaika.”

“He has the info for the meeting?”

“No, he saw Bucky downtown. He saw Bucky working downtown.”

Almost immediately, Steve had Chaika on the phone, “What did you want to tell me?”

Chaika sounded excited, “I saw him Steve, he took out an Azeri crime boss at the Macdonald hotel somehow. I couldn't tell if he was brainwashed or just working. Steve, it was like nothing to him. He got picked up and returned to the facility. They knocked him out for the drive back with a shot.”

“So we know that he is still working outside the facility. Is she working her own list, or is she hiring him out?”

“Balayev was on someone else’s list for sure. He’s a pain in the ass for his Caspian energy competitors, his brothers and random ecowarriors. But he was obscenely rich and completely untouchable. She’s doing it for overseas cash. No-one in Canada would have attempted it. He doesn't have the same caliber of enemies here.”

“What did he do? What happened?”

“Man, just unbelievable. Serge was tough, never alone and had security, plus the conference security in the hotel. Unbelievable. Strangled.”

“Sounds about right. I’ll kill her though.”

“You okay Steve?”

“No. But that’s beside the point. You see the body?”

“Nemaye. I mean, Steve. No. I heard that it was a garrote and he was beaten. Dumped in a hotel washroom. Steve, can I talk to the Widow?”

Steve handed the cell back to Natasha without a word. Natasha and Chaika spoke in Ukrainian for a bit and then she hung up.

Steve was fiddling with movie on the iPad, dragging a finger on his crippled hand back and forth on the screen idly rewinding and fast-forwarding througha scene of Anthony Quinn as a badly beaten boxer in a dressing room. Natasha reached over and took the iPad out of his hands. “Steve, look at me. Steve.”

Steve ran both hands through his hair and thunked his head on the dashboard, closed his eyes. “He killed someone today right in front of us. We were so close. He was out for god’s sake. We were so close. It could have been so easy to just pick him back up. They took him right back under our noses.”

Natasha, “So what, we’ll get him. We’ll figure it out. That’s what you do.” She didn’t touch him. She started the car and pulled out of the parking lot they had been waiting in. “We’re going back downtown to meet the Viet. Think about what you want to ask them to do. It will take us about about 20 minutes to get there. Did you want to stop off at the river park where he was picked up?”

“What did Chaika say to you?”

Natasha kept her eyes on the road. “He said that he would have called it in earlier but he wasn’t absolutely sure it was the Winter Soldier. He was alone. Only when they got to the park could he confirm identity and by then it was too late. He also said you wouldn’t believe him and that’s why he was telling me.”

“He’s right about that. I don't believe him. Let’s go to the park.”


	4. On chain-gang you gonna go

Chief limped over with his cane to the passenger side of the car where Natasha was sitting. He leaned into the window. "Captain, I got you an appointment with the Viet." Steve shrugged, "Okay, where and when. We're ready to go now." Steve flexed both hands on the steering wheel not bothering to hide his damaged right one.

Natasha said, "First though, we stopped by the park on the way over here. We found this little item." She held up a ziploc bag with a gold cellphone in it.

Steve leaned forward to look out the passenger side window. He added, "We think he left it for us. It is Basylev's or his assistant's. The Azeri guy he killed at the hotel this morning." Chief looked at them a little blankly, "What did you want me to do with it?"

 Steve said, "Come on Chief. You have someone who can look at it for us? I want to know what he thought he was doing leaving it there in a public park when he was either under surveillance or being picked up to be returned to the prison."

Chief moved his cane to his wrist and took the plastic bag, weighing it in his hand. "You think we have a science lab in the basement of the clubhouse or something? You guys and your big fancy-ass expectations. Let me see. I can try and get a friend's cousin Mike to check it out. He works for the Edmonton cops. We'll keep it on the down low."

Chief took a drag of his cigarette and continued, "I think you know why he left it though without having to go all CSI on the phone. He wanted you to know that he isn't a robot for Rahc. And that he's waiting for you. Isn't that what he's been doing this whole time?" He tucked the ziploc into his jacket pocket offering Steve again a glimpse of the chain around his waist.

Steve looked back at him mulishly, "Dang it. He's not waiting for me, he hasn't been waiting for me 'the whole time' as you so childishly put it. I only knew he was alive like 18 months ago. I got him out and up here and then it went to hell." Steve pressed his lips together so he wouldn't say anything else.

Chief smirked, "Oh yeah. Sure thing Captain. You're the boss that's why you left him with Rahc in the first place. We're just here to assist and offer support for this clusterfuck. Moving right along here however Widow, take this for your friend." He handed Natasha a folder paper with the location of the meet.

"You know where you are going? Construction site on 101 NW just off Jasper. Right next to the government building. You'll see what I mean when you get there."

Natasha took the instructions. "Thanks Chief, did you tell them what we have planned?" Smiling Chief answered her, "They have the gist. Honestly though? The Viet don't fucking care. Some of them owe Rahc a well deserved ass kicking. We'll hope for the best right? I'll get you to run a tab for the lot of us later. We'll be back at the office getting our shit together for tomorrow. See you later." He turned away grinning and limped back with his cane to the truck where Doc was waiting behind the wheel.

Steve looked at Chief walking away, "Did you hear that?" Natasha was checking her hair in the passenger visor mirror. "What, you gonna drive or what now?"

Steve answered, "He is so screwing with me. That's what I offered his dad when I had the Howling Commandoes go in the first time for Buck. They said they’d do it if I paid for their tab. Ended up costing me a ton of cash, real serious drinkers."

"Just drive on Steve. I want to get this over with. I really hate stumbling around construction sites in the dark."

+++++

Steve was standing a bit in front of Natasha in the dust at the entrance to the construction site for an office building. Natasha held up her cell to him, "I texted him. He should be coming soon." Just as she finished speaking a guy walked out of the gloom of the ground floor of the skyscraper towards them.

He was seriously dusty, a fine white powder completely covering him from boot toes to his spiky hair. Dark solemn almond eyes looked out at them from a white face as if he was an actor in pancake makeup.

The man stood in front of Steve. “Hey there, you our contact?” he asked. “Smooth approach Steve” Natasha hissed under her breath.

The man grinned showing a crooked smile and said, “Yeah, I’m Nhung. Chief said you wanted to talk? You have some offer for us to fight for you while you get someone out of that military prison. Yes?”

“Yes. Sure. I mean yes.”

The small man shook off some of the dust with a full body shake. A cloud of white powder rose off him like steam. "Follow me please."

He turned on his heel and led them to a construction trailer. He stood by the door until they had entered and then shut the door firmly.

"What is it you want exactly from the Viet?" He asked with a smile. Steve and Nhung sat huddled on broken office chairs and Steve outlined the plan.

 Natasha sulked, moving papers to one side of the desk to sit as they talked earnestly at length. She checked her phone and worked on sending some texts. She sat back and let them discuss, she zoned them out. She sat on the desk, put her back against the wall and ran the plan in her mind.

“What the hell Steve.” She said after what felt like forever.

Steve turned around, “Sorry, I was getting into some heavy details. I guess we’re done here.”

Nhung had brushed off some of the dust while they were talking. He looked young. Natasha couldn’t help it “Aren’t you a little young to be the head of a gang involved in this type of action?” Nhung laughed, “Yes miss, yes I guess I am.”

 “Oh before I forget, here are the keys. I noted on the map where it’s parked. Be good to her.” Steve dropped a set of keys into Nhungs left hand, then moved to shake hands, pausing but then sliding the motion into a smooth shake and release. Nhung shook Steve’s crippled hand solemnly and put the keys into his dusty pocket.

“We will be there tomorrow for you.” Nhung bowed and they left him in the trailer.

On opening the trailer door to the twilight, Natasha was surprised to see the trailer completely surrounded by Vietnamese construction workers, in a line, along the edge of the upper floors of the unfinished building and along the path back to the entrance to the site. They all stood still, unblinkingly watching Steve and Natasha walk out to the street.

“They certainly don't have a shortage of labour around here. Edmonton is a real boom town.”

“Steve, seriously, what were the keys you gave him back there?”

“The bike. I didn't have anything else to use as collateral for the Viet. I guess I’ll have to go rent a vehicle later for tomorrow.”

“Shit, Steve, no vehicle? Do you even have any other clothes? You walked away from DC with nothing but Bucky? You are so terrible at this now. Where the hell is your shield? Did you barter that too? What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha glared at him. She exhaled angrily.

“God Steve. Let me drive, I’m taking you back to the house after we get you something to wear. Or were you going to die tomorrow so it doesn't matter?” Natasha got in the car all pissed off.

Steve waited until he had fixed his seatbelt and answered her. “Funny that you’d ask about the shield. My shield is at your house actually. In your backyard shed. I’m not going to die tomorrow you know. I’m too angry. Also, for your information, sometimes the best plans are the ones that are a little bit loose to keep everyone on their toes.”

Steve leaned over and fiddled with the satellite radio in the car, he found the station he had found earlier and turned up the music. Nina Simone poured out of the speakers, effectively ending their conversation.

++++++

Ticket was waiting with his bike in the driveway when they got back to the Riverpark Drive house. “Hey there, been waiting for you guys.” Ticket had a shirt on today under his coveralls, backwards ball cap on and he was carrying a large plastic bag. Another parcel was strapped on the back of his bike.

Natasha opened both of the garage doors and told him to park the bike inside. She parked the little car in the other garage. Both garages were totally empty just like the inside of the house.

Steve uncurled himself from the passenger side holding his Old Navy bags. Natasha closed both garage doors and turned to them both. “Steve, get it together man. Get with the program and follow the same damn plan as the rest of us.”

Ticket was taking the stuff off the bike. He looked at them, “Fighting again? After all we’ve heard about you guys as a high performance team, you guys don't get along that well together you know.” Natasha gave him a look and then led the way through the kitchen and back down to the rec room.

Natasha had to see to some top secret spy stuff so she disappeared. Steve and Ticket started to prep their equipment for the action tomorrow.

Ticket opened up the bags with some help from Steve. “What the hell?” Steve dropped the contents of the first one as if his hands had been burned.

“Hey now, you know that was the plan man. Don’t freak out on me now.” Ticket moved to pick up the black body bag from the carpet. “It's the same kind as they use in the prison. It should work perfectly.”

Steve shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “It startled me. It’s one thing to talk about this plan and another to see it in front of me.”

“Chief thinks pretty highly of you. But I’m sort of thinking some of that respect is misplaced.” Ticket stared hard at Steve. “Shit, you can’t be that same guy. You are so skittish. Nervous. You gonna screw this up for us?”

Steve wouldn’t look at him, “No. I’m in. I’m in and I will get him back. I’m uneasy about this specific part of the plan. That’s all. I’ve seen this scenario before and that makes me nervous.”

“You’ll live. Now get with the program. The plan is an easy extraction. You have tons of support and even people inside. “

Ticket had moved closer to Steve, his face getting redder, fists clenched. He looked like he was getting ready to fight. He went up on his toes and moved his arms up in front of his chest.

One of his big hands shot out and grabbed Steve’s shirt lifting him up on his toes. “What’s your problem tough guy? Get your head out of your ass. It’s your freaking plan Steve.”

Steve tried to grab Ticket’s arm but it was like grabbing onto a hydro pole. Ticket slapped him in the face with his other hand. “Wake up Captain. You aren't helping anyone here with this wimp act.” And he slapped him again.

Steve froze at the force of Natasha’s quiet comment, “Take the temperature down boys.”

Ticket let go of his shirt and dropped Steve back down. Steve brushed off the front of his shirt with his left hand and then felt his cheek. “And?” She said coming into the rec room. Steve said “Nothing, it’s nothing.” Ticket just stepped away from him and took the bin of ammo that Natasha was carrying.

Steve began sorting through the bags, looking for something so he didn't have to look at either of them. He found an ammo box and held it up. “Is this the ammo that has to go to Chief’s contact inside the prison?”

Ticket nodded, still mad. “That’s the one. You know you are delivering it tomorrow right? The window of opportunity is pretty small but doable for most of us. Are you gonna be able to manage it Captain?”

“Sure thing Ticket. I may be going to prison tomorrow, but I’m not staying.”

“Don’t mix that box up. It has a red mark on the side to make sure we know it is the one for Rahc.” Natasha sounded irritated.

She moved over to a table to start completing the schedule sheets with the lists of ‘assistance’ and where they needed to be and when. “I think I got it all now. Is Chief coming back today? Or Chaika? What do we need to do to ensure we’ve got it together? Lot of moving parts in this Steve.“

Ticket started to move back to the stairs, “I’ll call them and check but I have to go to the liquor store, that one on 99, the Pineview. You have an entire crew working on this project. You think we don’t want it to work? Fuck that.”

And he walked up the stairs to get back to his bike. "Don’t break anything before I get back. And Steve? Stop crying, tough guy."


	5. I heard the judge say five years labor

Rahc was sitting at her desk talking at a uniformed man who was standing in her office. “So what will we do about the arm? You are the expert. In your opinion, how will we reset or restore the arm?" She steepled her gloved hands in front of her chin.

“Well I don't know about that Madame without examining the damage in person.” He turned towards her.

Rach exploded, “Captain, there are only four answers that I will hear today. ‘Yes Madame’, ‘no Madame’, ‘I don’t know Madame’, and ‘it will never happen again Madame’. Which answer are you giving to me?”

“Yes Madame. The arm can be fixed.”

“By you yourself sir? Or the now long dead robotische arm makers? Hmm?” She leered at him.

“Yes Madame. I believe the arm can be fixed by me.” The man remained still.

Rahc got up from the desk and walked over to a round glass table in the centre of the office. She turned and handed him a large format schematic and some printed photos.

He sat at the table, spread out the materials and began to quickly look at the file. He got a small calculator and a mechanical pencil from a tactical vest pocket and began to make calculations on the schematic.

She gave him only a scant few minutes before she pushed him again, "Is the arm repairable?”

"Yes Madame"

“Do I need to know the details of why or how the arm is not working?”

“No Madame.”

“To repeat. You will not speak to the weapon. Mr. Winter will either be restrained or drugged or both during the examination. You will be monitored during the entire assignment by staff from the control room and the exterior hallway."

"Yes Madame"

“Can you arrange for your equipment now please?”

“Yes Madame.”

She nodded at him, and he reached up for his radio on his epaulet. He called it in. He listed the equipment and devices he would require and where the equipment was located. He paused and then responded to the guard on the other end. They discussed locations and timing and then he ended the call.

She picked up where they had left off. “You will have no weaponry of any kind in the room with Mr. Winter. It is too dangerous. You and your equipment will be scanned prior to entry into the access area and on departure. Anything at all that is considered suspect in any way will be removed. If you are unable to perform the work without the equipment or devices, you will be removed from the holding access area, Mr. Winter will be restrained and medically incapacitated. Only then will your work resume with the rescreened equipment.”

Her eyes got a bit glassy as she continued.  “Even restrained he is unimaginable. Uncontrollable.  Entirely and completely fascinating. I have never seen anything like it.” She giggled, “He is like a ballet dancer of death my dear. So fast and accurate. And endlessly young.”

“Do you require electrical equipment in the holding access area?”

“Yes Madame.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Normally we use a controlled EMP as part of the restraints. Confirm it is not in use before you enter.”

“Yes Madame.”

“All the equipment and tools you require is considered to be used in a hostile environment. No tools left near the Winter Soldier. Your safety radius must be retained at all times or the operation will be shut down. Treat as UXO.”  

“Yes Madame.”

She focused her attention on him once again. Her eyes alighted on his black tactical vest.

"I will need to pat you down before we continue."

"I was scanned on arrival on this floor Madame."

"Are you refusing to be patted down?" Rahc was leaning in with a greedy look on her face, one eyebrow arched.

"No Madame."

"Alors mec, stand up and let me proceed." The man stood stiffly next to the table. She snapped "Parade rest please."

He moved into position with hands behind his back, legs slightly spread.

Rahc stood behind him and ran her gloved hands over his uniform, closely, tight to his body. She stuck her fingers in every pocket, around the top of his boots, across his thick gut, behind his belt, under his vest. She slid her hands around his collar and down his back. She ran her fingers through his short hair and in his ears. She asked him to open his mouth and with a tissue she held his tongue for mouth cavity search.

She checked his radio and then turned his calculator and his pencil over in her hands, looking at him quizzically, but then replaced both items in his pocket.

He was breathing through his nose, she could see the tension and took mercy on him. “No full body cavity search today. I’m too busy right now.”

“Yes Madame.”

“If you have plans I will know them, if you take action I will see you, if you even are looking somewhere you are not supposed to be looking I will find you and break you. I know all the codes. I speak all the languages. Do not attempt contact with Mr. Winter. No cell phones. No selfies. Nothing.”

“Yes Madame.”

“So c’est fini. And before you are finished here, please continue with the weapon check. Here is the pass card for access to the locker for your equipment.” She slid a card across the table at him. 

“This one is for the entry for Mr. Winter’s holding access area.”  She slid a second card to him. “You will be accompanied to the holding area. Check in with A-78 please about the weapon update.  I will need you to bring whatever tools and equipment you feel you may need to assess and repair. As discussed all materials will be inspected upon entrance, please allow the necessary time for that to occur.” She watched a bead of sweat trickle from the man’s reddening face down from his pale blond hairline and into his eyebrow.

“Yes Madame.”

“You will not bring any weapons in the access area so you will be participating in the section weapons review.” She began to disarm, her tazer rod, unholstered her pistol and a spare magazine were placed in a bin on the table. “This will wait for A-23 to pick up. She will be doing a breakdown for all CXs on duty in this section and return them to us. Please add your weapons as well, you won’t need them where you are going at the moment.” She slid a bin towards him. “Everything, including your knives.”

“Yes Madame.”

She looked at him smugly. “Well, my Chaika. I think we are finally in agreement today, no? Don’t smoke so many cigars, it is affecting your breathing. You sound like a walrus.” And with a mean little smile, she turned on her heel and began the door opening sequence to leave her office.

The uniformed stocky blonde man slowly continued disarming and placing the items in a bin. He was watching, waiting for the door lock behind her. One hand reaching naturally, relaxed, for the magazine in her bin and the other retrieving something from his vest. Steve’s little temper tantrum had changed the plan.

++++++

Chaika breathed calmly through his nose and thought about his task ahead. His goggles were tight across his forehead. His mask covered his mouth. He explored a tooth with his tongue while he waited. He tapped the pass to the first area against his pant leg.

He had his tool bag in hand and was standing next to a rolling red toolbox. It had taken over two hours to complete the thorough scan of his equipment. His prepared plan of approach for the repair had been reviewed by the CXs outside the access point. He didn’t think they understood the entire proposal or what each individual tool was for but he wanted it that way. Electricity was still on in the room. No EMP in use.

Once the subject had appeared again against all expectations after so long having gone to ground, Chaika had begun the hard planning for the DC location. Then having to readjust so quickly, he had made the move from DC to Edmonton. Chasing this exact moment. Making the complicated connections and contacts, he established this new expectations for the project. He would be successful. The solution was now right here in front of him.

Chief had initially offered access to him as partial payment. The full payment was going to be hard for Chief to make but this would go a ways to pay off the total debt. He smiled to himself. This would be even a small portion of the principal if he was successful. What an opportunity. Chaika was pleased.

He was given the signal through the monitors, he waved the pass at the touch pad and the light changed from yellow to green. The heavy first holding area door clunked open, withdrawing into the walls.

He moved slightly from foot to foot until he could see the signal from A-82 on the screen. He rolled the red tool box forward and walked inside the door clearance. The door slid closed behind him with a dull finality. Pause. Wait. Signal. Open. Move. He repeated the actions again through the access area secondary containment and then he was in.

The room was white, bleak and empty. The Winter Soldier sat chained to a chair, jumpsuit scrunched down exposing him naked from the waist up.

He sat immobilized and folded forward, head down, right hand bound to his right ankle. Robotic left arm stretched out and handcuffed to a pole in the floor. The armband on the left metal arm blinked wanly in the over bright fluorescent light.

Chaika breathed through his nose, the mask wet from condensation over his mouth. It was cold in the room. “Rahc really is a sadist,” he thought to himself “I will never get used to that.”

He placed his gloved hand on the Winter Soldier’s hair, held back in a messy bunch. He made a very slight almost imperceptible ‘che’ sound, and the bound man’s muscles in his neck twitched but he did not move. Chaika stood to the side and waved at the monitors.

He nudged the rolling tool box with his foot, placing his work bag on the top. He had lost a few items during the scan and inspection but they were not crucial to the overall plan. He crouched down and visually scanned the arm.

No work table. No electrical outlets. No extra lighting. No magnifying lenses. His tweezers had all been removed from his tool bag. Whatever. The Winter Soldier was not going to kill anyone with tweezers today. Chaika would work with what was available, God knows he had waited a long time for this opportunity.

A time check came out of the loud speaker in the wall. Chaika waved at the monitors once more and then rolled up his sleeve and started the countdown on his heavy military watch. He replaced his sleeve and velcroed his glove tight. He flicked the switch on the frames and changed his goggles to clear.

He touched a piece on the Winter Soldier's left bicep gently with a fingertip, and then removed the deactivating bracelet. He took out a lined envelope from his tool bag, stuck the bracelet inside, placing it carefully on the floor three feet away from the chair. He turned back and caught the Winter Soldier’s eye staring at him from under his lank hair. The eye contact was electrical.

The weapon was incredible. The CXs had briefed him that Barnes had been tranquilized at a level that would kill a normal human and yet he was still functioning. Chaika breathed out slowly, whispering, “Good boy zyma soldativ.” Staring into his eyes from three feet away, even with the contorted restrained position, Barnes looked alert and ready.

Chaika backed up again to the safety radius and slowly reached into his vest pocket. He removed that mechanical pencil and the calculator. He imperceptibly slid up the battery compartment of the calculator and stuck his mechanical pencil into the socket in the exposed back.

A tiny blue light showed. Antenna. On switch. Connection live. Good to go. Hiding his actions from the monitors he carefully placed the device into the tool bag with the antenna pointing straight up.

Chaika began the elaborate pantomime for the monitors, hiding the actual repair work on the arm he was doing from the prying eyes watching their every move. He had removed the cover on the bicep, setting it outside the radius, and prodded with a tiny thin tool the delicate arm circuits that looked like they had been corroded.

“I have to ask him to move his fingers.” Chaika spoke softly to the room from safety radius.

“No.” the speaker responded.

“May I show him what I need him to do?”

“No. His heartbeat changes when you are too close. Move away from the weapon.”

“I cannot repair the arm without speaking to him or touching him.”

There was a pause.

“Keep it short. Permission to speak may be revoked at any time.”

Chaika coughed, moving his hand to his mask. He invisibly removed the piece that had been held in his tooth on the tip of his gloved index finger. Moving back to the centre of the room, he placed his hand on the metal arm and touched the open section lightly with his fingers. When he moved his hand back his finger was clean. Easy movements, unseen by the monitors.

“Okay Barnes, let’s get this show started.” Lowering his head to Bucky’s level, Chaika said very quietly into his mask in Ukrainian, “Aksamyt”. Then he turned back to his tools, fussing with the equipment and getting ready for phase two of his plan.

Bucky blinked his visible eye very slowly once, leaving his eye closed. The uncovered wiring and motors in the arm made a soft whirring noise. Bucky tightened his handcuffed right hand at his ankle very slightly, his heels in the gray slippers pressing firmly to the floor.


	6. But I still got so terribly far to go

“And put on your gloves please. We don't need a direct connection to you handed to them on a plate.” Surrounded by piles of equipment and ammunition, Steve was giving the assembled group in the basement some instructions on loading the magazines. “Each one has a 30 round capacity. Tuck them in here, and then snap this over.”

“Don't load it up with more than 28. Don't want any jams when we’re working folks.” He gestured with his big hands, purple nitrile gloves adding a certain emphasis to the description. Ignoring his missing fingers, he demonstrated how to wrap two magazines together with electrical tape.

Chaika looked up from his work, put his calculator and pencil down and called out, “These are Sig MCXs Steve, not M-16s, they should work just fine without jamming if you max them out.” He got up from the sofa and moved closer to the stairs. He bent down and pulled a metal footlocker full of magazines over to the group.

“When you’re finished with your full ones, please stack them over here. And keep going. There’s a lot more where that came from.” Chaika gestured at the ammo lockers stacked four high against the rec room wall.

The group working on the equipment was ranged around the rec room sofas, reducing the gigantic piles of sorted and loaded ammo into bins by the coffee table. Chaika, Doc in blue tinted round glasses, an intense looking Chinese woman with a severe blunt chin length bob, a red headed guy with a van dyke beard and some skinny Vietnamese guys. Steve had met some of them before.

The group worked away in silence for a while. Ammo clicking. Steve, reading glasses on, had gotten rid of the gloves and moved to stand over by the patio doors. He was working with a pencil on a large paper plan taped across the glass door.

“Sniper, shotgun, handgun, armour piercing, pepper spray, tasers, tear gas, AK-47s.  Oh yeah, and I don't want to forget the bean bag rounds.” He sounded delighted. “Looks like we got the full range. And all of it Canadian Army supplied. Thank you Canada. Seamless.”

He smiled at the paper and then turned back towards Natasha, “Widow, what do you think? It’s not at all like the invisible elves who did all this work with SHIELD. I’m loving the task breakdown. Much more hands on the plan this time around.”

Natasha turned to him from the door to the laundry room “Quite a motley crew you got here,” she started to say something more but just then Ticket knocked on the glass doors by Steve. Steve stepped away and Ticket slid the door open. Ticket called out “Looks like knit night in here for sure. All that ammo gave it away.” The man standing behind him  gave a wave and a quiet hello to Chaika.

Steve had a sort of frozen angry look on his face. “No. Not him. No thanks.” He turned back to the group, brusquely handing out electrical tape rolls and checking magazines for alignment.

“What’s the issue man?” Ticket was glaring at Steve. “Shit man, this again? Pietro ain’t going anywhere Steve.” Something clicked in Natasha’s head. Chaika was glaring at both of them. Doc was looking over the tops of his hippie glasses directly at her.

She got the hint and sighed, “Can I talk to you over here for a moment Ticket?” Natasha waved him over to the stairs, away from where magazines were being loaded.

She moved closer to him, sighed and said softly, “So, Ticket, Steve doesn’t really ‘like’ Germans.”

“What? Fuck that antique over there.” Ticket laughed, not taking her seriously.  “Tell him that Pietro is actually from Paraguay, that make it alright?” Ticket ran his hand through his beard.

“You know, his dad was taken off the count in Edmonton CF, so he has a beef with her too. I gotta look after him and Chief says he’s in.“ He glared at her.

Ticket continued, “He has a big investment in this operation and I need him for my part.” He nodded at the Chinese woman, “Also Soi-Fon can’t work without him. He’s gonna drive her home.”

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, kind of no. So maybe he can come wait with me in the kitchen? I think you don’t get an opinion or a chance to be an asshole today.” She looked at him steadily. “Too much at stake right now.”

“It is fine with me to go to the kitchen,” the skinny guy Ticket had called Pietro interjected. Natasha led the way back up the stairs to the empty kitchen, leaving Ticket to join the group.

She turned on the kitchen lights and took a seat on the counter. Pietro looked around at the empty room and then sat on the island, long legs dangling.

“I can't apologize for him. He’s the lead on this one but how did Steve even meet you to know that you speak German? I’ve never seen you before.” Natasha said.

“We were out for some drinks and I guess Steve didn’t appreciate hearing me speaking German. Chaika and I had spent some time in Hamburg where my sister is, that’s where I met him and the Veil. My dad was working on some things there and then I came to Edmonton because he was in jail. After he died I’ve been working for the Veil here.” Pietro’s voice trailed off.

“Are you surprised Steve is upset?” Natasha asked him in German.

“Uh, should I be speaking German? Can he hear me?” Pietro was nervous.

“I don't care and it’s my house. Just talk to me.” Natasha was smiling. It didn’t make Pietro feel any better really but he continued.

“Yeah. I don't understand. Why would he care?” Pietro asked, lowering his voice, “Is his family Jewish?”

Natasha threw her head back and laughed, “No he’s actually fucking ninety-seven years old. He still thinks it is 1944.” She added, “You have no idea who he is do you?”

Pietro shook his head, “Should I? He’s an American biker up here to do something that he needed the Veil’s help for. Chief knows him from somewhere. Maybe Chief knows his dad?”

Natasha laughed again holding her hand in front of her mouth, “That will do. I’ll stick to that answer. Just ignore me. I was kidding. Does he look that old? He’s just a racist American jerk. No excuse for him. Ignore him. I was kidding.”

+++++

Natasha was making noodles. A kettle was boiling, two instant noodle cups sat on the counter. She had Pietro looking for something to eat the ramen with, chopsticks or spoon, anything he could find in the empty kitchen.

Pietro was opening and closing drawers, “Will this do?” he asked. He had come up with a plastic spoon, fork and two sets of disposable chopsticks. “I found a couple of paper napkins also. Don't you live here? Or did you just move in?”

Natasha shut a pantry door. Before she closed it completely, Pietro caught a glimpse of all the shelves of the cupboard entirely full of ramen noodle cups.

“I came up here to assist Steve with this operation.” She was fussing with the ramen cups.

“So is he your boss?” Pietro sat back on the island.

“Nope. You want the kimchi one? Or the chicken? It’s not so spicy.” She spoke over her shoulder at him.

“So you guys with an organization in the States? Who do you work for?” Pietro stretched out a spoon in her direction.

She took the spoon. “Thanks. I am, I guess, what you might call a self-employed contractor at the moment. Steve is not my boss and we both are not currently working for anyone.”

“Are you his boss? I don't really understand you guys. Didn’t you say you had this house before he got here? But I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Pietro tailed off.

Natasha handed him his Styrofoam cup of noodles. “I gave you the chicken one. You are right it doesn't matter. I had this place for years. I just never had a reason to come here before he showed up here. I didn’t think he could do this on his own, it’s the least I can do to help him get Winter out.”

“That guy in Edmonton CF he wants to save? He is totally fucking bad news. Why is Steve trying to get him out anyway? I think he killed my dad.”

Natasha paused. She looked at him. “I owe him. I owe both of them actually. This shitstorm started a while ago and I was part of it. I didn’t know about your dad. I'm sorry.” She slurped her noodles.

Pietro blew on his soup. “So what’s Steve’s problem anyway? Why does he want to break that guy out?”

“Steve was in solitary for a really long time and only got out recently. Then he had an accident and fucked up his hand. He worked with Winter pretty closely before all that. It’s been hard for him to adjust. Winter wasn’t supposed to stay in this long.”

“My father was in there, in solitary. It does screw you up. But I think Winter killed him.”

Natasha looked at him. “What do you want me to do about that? We’re getting him out. That’s what this is for. With this stupid Busby Berkeley plan. We’re going to get Winter out.”

“You going to kill Rahc as well?”

“Well I’m not going to kill her.” Natasha was still looking at him steadily. “No guarantees on anyone else involved in this cluster fuck though. I think there’s a line up of guys started for that task. Steve probably has the ranking on one of his irritating lists taped to my patio doors.”

She put down her noodle cup and chopsticks. “You done? You want something to drink? I can make coffee.”

“You don't have a fridge in here, only a kettle and a coffee maker?”

“Yeah, I just never got around to getting appliances.” She waved her hand around the kitchen. “Relax Pietro, Steve can't kick you off the team if Chief wants you on it. Just keep your theory about Winter and your dad maybe to yourself for a bit? Winter probably did it. I could believe it. He’s done much much worse. A lot worse. We don't discuss.”

She sat back on the counter, “Now if you really want to talk, let’s talk about you, your sister, your dad and how exactly you know Chaika.”

++++++

Steve was fuming.

Fuck Natasha. Right now in the kitchen with that kraut. His goddamn “dad” was the fucking Baron. Damn straight. So glad Bucky killed him in the joint. If he didn’t I would have. Fuck. Why was the Baron even in this stupid Canadian prison in the first place? Fuck Rahc and her fucking games.

He hit the car with his left fist. Oops. Dent. Deep breath. Steve stopped himself and leaned his head down putting his warm cheek on the cool roof of Natasha’s car. He had come out to the garage to get away from the strangers in the basement working on his ammo prep. This was going to be a really long day. They had to still do the uniforms and then the individual team briefings. Endless phone calls and text messages to arrange the scheduling. Shit he actually did miss having rafts of SHIELD support people to do that stuff.

He pulled his little red notebook out of his hoodie pocket. He opened it up on the roof of the car and ran his finger down a list he had prepared yesterday.

Chief was going to get back to him about the Azeri phone but hadn't yet. Steve didn’t think he was actually going to follow through with the forensic review of the phone data.

He still had some vehicle recon to arrange, and he guessed he needed to be talking with Chaika. Trucks should be easy to get according to what he’d seen of this town. Nat had said something about river recon being set up already.

Steve put the notebook back and checked his pants pockets. He took out a crushed pack of cigarettes and lit one. He moved over to the big garage door and pressed the button to open it up. He walked out of the spotless garage and stood on the driveway for a moment just staring at the suburban street in the evening quiet.

“You visiting Ms. Romanov?” Steve snapped his head around at the voice and caught sight of Natasha’s neighbor, an elderly gent standing in his yard next door, holding a hose.

“Yeah, just visiting for a bit.”

The neighbor continued, “You know she has no furniture right?”

“Ah, yep, right.” Steve had the good graces to look sheepish. “We’re working, on some stuff downstairs. She has some couches there.” Steve took a drag on his smoke to get his mind back on track. He was at a loss of what to say that wasn’t completely idiotic.

The neighbor dropped the hose back on the lawn and tapped his hand on the big covered boat parked in his driveway. “Natasha is borrowing this tomorrow for some recon. Bass boat. Nice Seven Marine engine. I can give you the keys now. Just remind her I want it back in one piece when you are done with it. Can you let her know that she can just hitch it up to her little car? It’s a real easy hookup.”

Steve just looked at him for a sec. And then shaking his head, walked across the driveway to get the boat keys.

So that’s our little vehicle recon on the river all set up, Natasha. All we have to do is just chat with our nosy neighbours and borrow a boat? Is all of Edmonton involved in this little caper now?

Unbelievable, just unbelievable the shit that woman gets up to. How did he ever think he was in charge of this freaking plan?


	7. Gonna see my sweet honey bee

Bucky had watched in the convex mirror at the ceiling behind the café counter as Rahc lined up to place her order. He took advantage of her absence and shifted his eyes to do a covert self-check. He was in a black shirt with no vest or holsters, his long hair out of his face. He had no discernible weaponry weights, and the boots felt lighter than the last outing. Rubber soled. Could be useful.

He dropped his eyes and saw black jeans. He raised his eyes again and checked for Rahc still in the lineup to order. His left arm was again in a silk sling. However when he flexed those fingers, holding his arm below the table for cover, he found that his weaponized arm now appeared to be fully functional. Interesting.

He was sitting in a coffee shop. It was busy bustling place full of men and women working on laptops and their phones or chatting in groups. He flexed the fingers of his left hand again to stabilize his thoughts. He was not working a job today and yet he was not currently restrained in the facility. This was very unusual.

Rahc was out of uniform. She had her hair piled up in a tight twisting swirl on top of her head held in a large clip. She wore dark tights that stopped at her calf with a short skirt and a tiny sweater. He wondered where she was concealing her weapons. She had a small purse over her shoulder he imagined contained currency.

He could see his profile reflection in the café window. His hair was off his pale face, with his long bangs held in a small bun at the back of his head. He felt on display. She had stated that they needed to acclimatize to outside. He didn't understand why he couldn't see any handlers. She had left him at the table without oversight. Why.

“Green tea chai latte venti frappichino with extra whip and a tall bold for Ettol?” The café person called out. He watched her move from one line to the other line to get the drinks. She had even used her own name? In public?

As she weaved her way through the seats back to his table he monitored her path in the mirror. She looked like all the other women in the café at the moment: dark clothing, overwrought shoes, complex hair and bright lipstick. She didn't look at all dangerous today. She looked like a hipster.

She slid a coffee cup to him across the table and placed her gigantic plastic drink down in front of herself as she sat down across from him.

Her drink was layered in strata of whipped cream, coffee and something he couldn’t identify, topped with a plastic dome. She stabbed the drink with a long green straw and took a sip.

She nodded at his cup. “Drink up chlopiec, when was the last time you had a coffee out in the wide world?” She grinned with her pointed teeth, eyes narrowed.  She was speaking to him softly but aggressively in Belarusian. He nodded his understanding. He didn’t want to respond verbally. He wondered if she would force him to speak.

“Take the cup.” She said. He moved to touch the cup with his right hand. It was hot. He didn’t believe that she had time to tamper with the drink in the short time it took to walk back to the table. He doubted that the young man at the counter was her employee but the possibility was there. He took a hesitant sip. He watched her as he did.

This coffee was black and strong in its cardboard cup. It reminded him of a number of splintered and vague memories. How long ago was it that he had drunk black thick coffee from tiny little cups while sitting on piles of carpets in that rug store? Where was he drinking from a heavy white china mug in a dingy poorly lit train station diner across from someone he couldn’t quite remember? Who was the religious man pouring the coffee from an elaborate thin spouted golden pot in an empty office thick with frankincense smoke? He couldn’t tell if his swirling memories were real or planted. He ignored them.

She asked him how the coffee was. He nodded. She looked at him sharply. “Havaryć” So there it was. He stuttered a bit answering, “Dobry hus. Tastes good.” She added, “Madame. Always Madame.” He tried again, “Tastes good Madame.” English was coming easier today and he didn’t want to speak anything but English for some reason. The café was full of English.

She smiled at him again with her sharp teeth and eyes from behind her own drink. “What should we do this afternoon zima?” She sipped her straw. He silently flexed a single metal finger in his sling.

Perhaps he would get his opportunity. She just wanted to have a coffee with him? Why was he out of the facility? She had fucked up. When he was being unshackled at the exit point he had been surprised at his removal without the normal safeguards.

They had been driven here in a civilian car, he had not been sedated or restrained. Did she think he was currently no threat to her? She was very mistaken. There was a driver currently waiting for them but the officer was in civilian clothing and did not have the facility level of weaponry concealed on her person. He had not seen any equipment or weapons in the car either.

“Do you know why you are out today? Enjoying the fruits of civilization like a normal human being?” She pointed her straw at him.

He sat back from the table with his coffee cup in his right hand. She needled him, “Speak up zima.”

He looked at her. “No Madame.”

“You are a machine I use to complete my work.” He looked at her.

“Do you have a mind to disagree with me?” She was smiling again, and it was unsettling.

“No Madame.”

“I find you fascinating.”

“Yes Madame.” He could play this game easily for hours.

“What do you think about when you are in your room Mr Winter?” She honestly looked interested in his answer.

“Nothing. Madame. I am a machine.”

"Do you wish you were free?"

"No Madame. There is no freedom for a machine."

++++++

Bucky sat in the passenger seat of the car being driven back to return them to the facility. Rahc was in the back. She had one arm propped on the driver’s seat as she sat behind him. This type of transportation seemed less than optimal.

She perched on the edge of her seat and seemed tense. She was sitting differently than earlier in the afternoon on their weird and awkward coffee ‘date’. He was pretty sure she had just rearmed prior to getting into the backseat.

They had just gotten back into the car from the coffee shop and Bucky was waiting for an opportunity. Again, uncharacteristically, he was not fully restrained and was sitting in the front passengers seat.

He was wearing the mask, a seat belt and the car door had no lock on his side but he was confident he could deal with it. They were driving in regular city traffic, returning to the facility when they stopped for the light.

Rahc saw something and started to freak out. She slapped A-542 in the driver’s seat hard on the shoulder, shouting “Drive! Drive now!” Bucky didn’t care what she was reacting to, he just moved faster and reacted faster like the machine that he was.

Slipping off the sling, Bucky stretched out his left arm and hit A-542 hard in the side of the head. The woman was immediately face down on the steering wheel, car horn blaring. Bucky snapped his seat belt and punched out the car door with his left hand in the next moment.

Kicking the driver once for luck, he shoved Rahc back into her seat. Then he was outside the car taking off across the street and running like hell towards the residential neighbourhood he had caught sight of through the park on the corner.

He thought he had pretty good odds if Rahc couldn’t follow him by car in the first few minutes of his escape.

++++++

Steve heard the car horn, some shouting and then turning towards the commotion, he saw a man in dark clothing running fast towards the park on their left. He looked again, gripped the dashboard hard and shouted at Natasha “No way. Fuck Natasha, is that...” Natasha was shouting at the same time, “That’s him.” She wrenched the steering wheel and hit the gas, “Hang on, we’re going in through there.”

Their car bumped through the park in a shower of dirt, Steve’s head hit the roof of the car that had started to drift when they hit the cul de sac with their speed.

Natasha drove through the spin and continued flying down the suburban street. Steve was cursing, “I lost him somewhere, did he go in a yard? Shit! Did he go to ground? Did someone pick him up?”

“Where’s Rahc Steve? Did you see her car move from that intersection? She’s a fucking menace. I hope he killed the bitch. We can't go back and make sure.” Natasha was slowing down, craning her neck looking for something, anything to show where Bucky had run. “Wait you hear that?” she asked.

Steve cranked down his window and listened, “Barking, I hear somebody’s dog fucking barking! Go Natasha. Go, go. Over there.” He pointed. Natasha put the pedal to the floor again heading towards the sound.

++++++

Rahc stood beside an institutional SUV parked behind the civilian car they had used with the passenger door ripped off. Her hand was clutching her cell so hard that the screen had cracked. It had taken longer than she was happy with for the team from the institution to arrive and begin. So much lost time.

Around her, a number of fully equipped COs were comparing notes and a facility canine team was working a map on the hood of the trashed car, dogs sitting at attention at their feet. On the first and second team search sweeps the dogs had found only his mask and the sling.

His fucking arm was operational in this situation. That technician had some explaining to do. His report was that the arm had partial movement abilities but that both accuracy and grip had been reduced and were currently unrepairable.

Chaika had not yet been found to attest to the status of Mr Winter’s arm but he would be. She would make sure of that.

The residential area they were standing in had been evacuated for a 4 km radius from the break point. The authorities had been informed there had been a concurrent chemical leak and an escaped military prisoner. Possibly related.

It had always served her well to have an effective cover. Like the 1990 event they camouflaged within the Stanley Cup final celebrations. She curled her lip. Enough reminiscing on past performance, this current idiocy had to be resolved.

“Get this action started!” She shouted, unable to take the bureaucratic nonsense of extensive searches even one minute longer. “Just get this finished as fast as you can! Find him, subdue him and deactivate him. Mr. Winter has deeply disappointed me. He needs to be returned as soon as possible to the safety of the facility.”

A chorus of “Yes Madame” from all staff present did nothing to soothe her boiling anger. She stalked off to find her new driver. She would watch their progress from the calm of her office, there was nothing she could do here but marinate in her impotent fury. The less time she spent in public the better at this point.


	8. Gonna lay down somewhere shady

Standing next to the open car door in a damp and slightly burned uniform, Steve looked down at the dirty body bag in the back seat of Natasha’s car. He called to her, “Widow? What am I looking at here?” She was rooting around in the front, fishing something out from under the driver’s seat, and he heard a muffled answer “I’m busy.”

Steve could hear the car radio on low from the front seat. Song was unrecognizable to him but something about fire and gasoline. He reached into the back of his waistband and took out his Beretta and slid it onto the roof of the car. He unclipped his uniform radio from his left shoulder and put it next to the gun. Working with measured actions. Pacing himself. Adding a buffer to the action he was going to take.

He left his singed gloves on, leaning down and inside the tiny car to undo the long plastic zipper on the black bag. As he began undoing the zipper, he felt the body’s head inside the bag shifting to the left. Steve refused to startle. He could do this. He was prepared for this. He was ready.

Steve put his hands inside the zipper to open the bag up, he initially could only see the side of a bloodied head, and felt his own blood pounding in his ears. His three fingered right hand moved the head slightly bringing the man’s cropped hair into the light.

Blonde, the body inside the bag was a blonde man. Steve relaxed slightly. “Who the fuck is this? Widow? Please?” He saw a dark coloured institution uniform on the body in the bag, the same uniform he had on. The inside of the car smelled like smoke, water and blood. Hard to tell what was going on in the dark bag. He opened the bag up wider, looking at the man’s throat and chest.

He caught himself, thought he had seen a slight pulse on the bloodied neck, behind a dirty ear, and looked again. Putting his head right down on the body’s solid cold chest, listening. Steve moved his arm so his mangled hand could open the bag wider, checking the body, feeling for a pulse. Nothing appeared to be missing from his head down to his waist. Face was pale and waxy. Shit, man, he did know this guy.

“It’s Chaika. Why is he in this fucking bag?” Steve looked over at Natasha. “And I think he’s alive.” She was standing now, holding up her prize from floor of the car. It was a syringe in a vacuum pack, looked like an epipen.

“You haven’t been paying attention have you?” Natasha didn’t sound pissed just a bit tired. “You do it.” She shook it briskly, ripped the plastic package open and then handed the syringe over to him in the backseat. “It took us a bit longer than planned to get back out of there with him. So he may not be able to be woken up at this point. Chief will be upset with us so I hope this works.”

Steve looked at the little auto injector in his hands. No markings. He half turned to Natasha, asking, “Leg? Throat? Arm? Chest?”

“Throat. Hollow in the front at the base of his throat.” She waved her hand at her own neck.  “Where you would strangle someone. Right in his jugular notch.” Then she was back in the front of the car, now working on ransacking the glove compartment.

Steve thought that was awfully intimate to have some asshole grind a drug into the soft spot at the base of your neck. He shrugged that thought away and jammed the auto injector into Chaika’s throat. The drug released and he could feel the syringe cooling down rapidly, even through his gloves. She called back, “Steve, that’s enough. Drop it before it freezes and sticks to his skin.”

A dime-sized circle of frost, tiny ice crystals, had appeared at the injection site. The car filled with the sudden sound of Chaika’s breath whistling slightly as he went into harsh convulsions. Steve cursed under his breath and quickly tossed the empty syringe on the car floor. He grabbed the top of the body bag, trying to get a grip on Chaika’s heavy torso.

“Hold onto his arms. I’ll get his feet.” Natasha ripped the other car door open and wrestled with his drumming feet still in the bag to keep his body on the car seat. She failed and the bag slid slightly down to the floor of the car, feet end of the bag knocking against the back of the driver’s seat. Their shoulders knocked together as they grabbed for the body.

Steve gripped the body’s, the man’s, Chaika’s arms tight to his torso. “Is this part of the drug’s effect?” Another thought hit him, “Is he wounded anywhere? Should I be looking out for a wound?” The bag was impossible to hang onto. The size of the man’s bulk in the tiny car was defeating them. “Natasha?”

“I can’t say Steve,” Natasha grunted as a bagged foot kicked her sharply in the gut. “Can’t say I’ve done this exact thing before.” She was losing her grip on her end of the bag. “Fuck this better stop soon. Damn it. How did I end up with his feet?”

Steve thought to hell with it. He kneeled up on the guy and stretched an aching arm across him to unzip the entire bag. He shifted and holding Chaika up and to his chest, he started to swipe at the bag, pushing at it awkwardly. Natasha started to pull the slippery bag off from the other side with a free hand.

Once the body bag was out of the way and off him, Steve laid down right across Chaika in the back seat to hold him down.

Natasha started checking for injuries, patting down his rigid limbs while his head tilted up and he shook, teeth bared, rigid, eyes rolled right back in his head.

Steve braced himself against the seat back and just held on. The tremors were lessening it seemed. Chaika felt like cold cool marble underneath him, the shaking continued, but then after what felt like an age, his soft wheezing began to turn onto grunts.

Chaika’s lips slowly began to lose the blue tinge. Steve lightened up on his grip. The guy was still wracked with tremors but not as starkly kinetic as before.

“Wound in his leg, won’t kill him, through and through so may not even give him a limp. Looks like a bullet crease in his scalp, his earlobe and lip is pretty torn. Helpful for the amount of blood mask certainly.”

She paused and reached her hand over to stroke the unconscious man’s hand lightly.  “Not sure what else is going on with him or what specifically convinced them to put him in the bag. I was aware of the plan up to and including the body bag in plan A but all the changes to the pickup for plan B were made with the Viet not me. That was entirely Chief working on getting his own guy out.”

She added, “But did you see that?” Natasha was pointing with a finger at Chaika’s neck, showing through the uniform shirt wrenched open where Steve had hit with the syringe. Deep angry purple brown bruising circled his neck where he might have worn a necklace.

The marks showed on his wrists as well where his sleeves had been pushed up up during his convulsions. Bruising in a dark lace pattern, like a hard flexible object had bitten deeply into his skin and muscle. “That really doesn't look new.” Natasha stated flatly.

The convulsions had stopped but random jerks of muscle responses still rippled across his body. Chaika’s dirty and sweaty head lolled back at an odd angle. Steve sat up stiffly and hauled his head onto his own lap, shifting his body back up, folding Chaika’s legs under himself as he lay across the seat.

Steve answered Natasha after he had finished sorting out Chaika’s stiffened limbs. “That looks like Rahc actually. She likes to drop things and see what happens to them. What was she doing with him though? She wouldn’t have put him in the bag, let alone in one piece, unless she was personally convinced he was actually dead.”

He paused and wiped at his dry mouth with the back of one glove. “He’s still barely alive. What the hell was that stuff I just gave him?” Natasha looked at him and smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. “That was a very interesting drug that he had supplied us for plan A. I need to have a long conversation with him when he wakes up. I have seen it before but never used it myself. I would very much like to know where he got it.”

“But how did he get into the bag in the first place? God, Widow. Do I even know why he was being held by Rahc in the first place?” Steve trailed off.

She continued on after he stopped talking, “Would that have mattered if it wasn’t him in that body bag? Chief wanted him back. It’s very nice to be wanted.” She picked up again the thing she had tossed in the front seat when Chaika had first gone into convulsions.

She held in one hand what looked like a thin calculator that he had definitely seen before. He guessed that was what had been stashed in the glove compartment. She snapped the calculator in half and tossed the pieces into the passenger seat in front of him.

The radio was still on, playing somewhat incongruously for the moment, warbling a song about heroes. Legs sticking out of the car, Steve laid his head back on the headrest and tried to control his breathing. He stripped off the glove on his right hand. His hand found its way to the side of Chaika’s throat. Impossibly he could feel a faint and thready pulse under his two fingers.

Natasha took advantage of his silence and backed out of the car. Then she stood up and stretched her arms up in the air over her head. She kicked at the crumpled body bag wadded up on the pavement by the back tire.

She didn’t look back at him while she spoke. “A six foot man in that little bitty bag. Who would have thought? Certainly surprised you. Were you expecting someone a bit shorter to be in the bag, Steve?”

He glared at her but didn’t respond. He just held onto Chaika tightly in the back seat of her fucking stupid hybrid car, waiting to see if the man’s pulse would strengthen, waiting for the next set of instructions.

 She looked around, away from the car. “I never spend this much time in a Wal-Mart parking lot normally. I think I like Canada. It’s so quiet.”


	9. Lord I sure am hot in the sun

“Whose bright idea was this?” Steve held up a piece of paper to the room in the Veil’s office. He was holding a missing persons poster he had found on the bulletin board in the Starbucks around the corner. There was a sad looking black and white photo of a pale face and dark lank hair under the large font ‘Missing’ at the top. There was laughter from the guys around the conference table but it died under Steve’s glare. SoiFon frowned and touched Pietro on the arm, catching his attention.

“What good is that going to do? Someone’s going to find him running off his leash in the park?” Ticket sounded less than thrilled.  Chaika was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, bandaged wrists and neck showing under his shirt. Dark circles under his eyes, he looked grim.

Steve interrupted, “What the fuck is this phone number? Whose phone number is that? And where did they even get that photo of Barnes?” Steve looked back at the poster again. “ How did anyone get a photo of Barnes? From the internet? I don't have a photo of him." He growled, "You know, I have no clue where this came from but this is pissing me off.”

He held up his phone. “I am going to call this number. If this rings in this room, someone is getting a beating.” He dialed the number from the poster and everyone paused.  SoiFon looked down but Doc held up her arm in a tight grip. Her hand was holding a buzzing phone.

“Explain.” Steve growled at her.

SoiFon glared back. She sat stiffly, head up. In heavily accented English she answered, “I was doing a favour. The paper was to help. No-one knows he is a criminal but you and Rahc. You shine a light on something and everyone can see it.”

Steve sat in stony silence. She tried again, “I saw on the internet. Looking for lost children with the posters.” Ticket laughed and said “Oh honey you didn’t set up a Kickstarter did you? Steve’s gonna kill you if you did. Please say you didn't.”

The laughing started up again. Steve didn't wait for the answer. He angrily left the room, throwing the poster into the recycle bin on the way out the door. Fucking dicks. Did they take nothing seriously around here? That was a meeting he didn't need to be at. He wasn't part of their business any more anyway now that this recovery mission had fallen apart. He nodded to the guy on the door as he left the office. He’d stand around on the sidewalk and have a cigarette.

Chaika appeared on the sidewalk in front of him as he looked for his smokes. Chaika offered him a small cigar. Steve took it and looked at him more closely, “You can’t talk yet can you?” Chaika rasped, “Sure I can. Just hurts like fuck.” He lit both of their smokes.

Chaika with his voice like nails on a chalkboard said, “I never thanked you. I was given to understand you brought me back. Did you?”

Steve answered without looking at him, “Well, it was the Widow who did it. I just hung on for the ride.” Chaika asked, “Who went through my pockets? Was it before or after I was in the bag?”

Steve looked at him more closely, “I didn't frisk you man, so I couldn't really say. So tell me what are you missing. The widow isn’t known for pickpocketing without cause.” Chaika took a drag on his cigar and exhaled cautiously. He choked out with his gravelly voice, “I didn't have anything in my pockets when I came to at the clinic. I'm missing something important.”

Steve thought about it for a moment, “Well, you had no weapons on you, Rahc must’ve taken whatever you had on you before she thought you were dead.” He flicked an ash at the hedge beside the sidewalk. “You know, why didn’t she cut you up into little pieces to make sure you were dead?”

Chaika had a grim little smile on his face, made more menacing by the stitches on his lip. “She was having a problem with her ammunition among other things at that time. She had a number of worries. I think I was of minimal concern to her.”

“Did the Viet get her?” Steve asked. Chaika made a motion with his hand, “I think yes but they haven’t shared all that info with us yet. We had parallel missions. Ours may have failed partially. I’m unsure of the complete status of theirs.”

“Was he in there?” Steve looked right at him. Chaika shook his head, “If he was in there I would be very surprised. His arm is functional and he had not been drugged for a number of days. He should be back to work.”

“What does that mean? He doesn't have work to do. He has no handlers.” Steve was starting to look irritated. “So you’re saying he’s hiding in someone’s garage?”

Chaika shrugged, “He isn't actually a lost pet neither is he mindless. He is incredibly resourceful and perhaps he has a mission of his own that he is working currently.” Steve flexed his mangled hand. “That wasn’t the exact ending I was hoping for.”

Chaika answered him after a long drag on the cigar, “Maybe you should give up. If the Viet either killed Rahc or have her alive then you don’t owe her anything any more. We’ll never see her again. Her operation  is done. Barnes is running. What else do you have here?”

Steve exhaled a plume of smoke. Chaika continued in his paper thin voice, “I heard the Widow took off. I think you’re alone. Shit's heating up.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Steve didn’t sound very happy about it either way.

+++++

The text had told him to come to some engineering building on the university campus. Steve wasn’t sure what Nhung wanted but he didn’t have much else to do.

He drove Natasha’s car over, she had left him with a set of keys. He figured she wouldn’t mind. It bugged him that everyone seemed to know his business but him. Natasha hadn’t said anything about leaving. But he wouldn’t stoop to texting her like a nervous high schooler. The car was stuffed with ammo and weaponry he managed to stash from Natasha's basement. His shield was in the backseat. Thankfully he still had the dead Azeri's iPhone they had found in the park. Nhung had connected him with some guy who could unlock phones so he had a new chip and a new number.

He figured the Widow’d show up when she wanted to. He hadn’t actually made contact visual or otherwise with Bucky yet, wanted poster be damned. He thought she’d be there when that contact happened.  He just had a feeling about her crazy psychic powers of detection, she knew everything and everyone. He parked the little car on 111 Street NW.  He did a six and twelve sweep, nobody but some students. He checked his phone as he walked up to the building, nothing new.

He found Nhung sitting on a bench in the mostly empty atrium with a serious look on his face. A few students were huddled plugged into electrical sockets, working on phones, ipads and laptops, working away.  Steve stood in front of him. "What's up?" he asked.

Nhung frowned at him. "She got away you know. We lost her. She was supposed to be immobilized. I need her." Steve said, "I'm missing someone too. I think that's a zero sum game at this point. What do you want to do about it?"

"It’s not a game. It is that you have zero leverage at this point Steve. You can't pay your bill with money you already spent. We need more from you." Nhung titled his head to one side and looked at Steve in silence.

Steve took a seat on the bench next to him. "What were you thinking? Got a plan?"

Nhung paused, "Yes Steve we have a plan." he looked down at his hands folded in his lap and then back at Steve. "We will take you for the reward on you. Right now." He stood up, Steve sat back unsure of what was going on. "What the fuck? There's a reward for me?"

The students sitting in the atrium suddenly stood up, pushing their work aside, pulling handguns and knives from their bags, Viet members moving to converge on Steve.

He exhaled, "Jesus man, give me a break here. Really?" Looking back quickly at Nhung who was standing signalling to his people, Steve took off running for the entrance to the building.

Steve ran across the gleaming empty atrium, dodging and going low.  He heard feet behind him, and shifted quickly narrowly missing getting hit by a shot that went wide.

He thought he could make it maybe to a door. Run, get out of the building and then see what his options were. He needed to get out of the open space like right now and he needed a better weapon than just the knife in his coat. He really did not want to take those stairs up to the second floor but he might be forced to.

But just as he rounded a corner, he ran slap into Chief and Ticket coming in fast from the second entrance to the parking lot.

“Sorry man. You’re not gonna like this.” Ticket moved to stand behind Chief and in front of the doors. Arms crossed. Solid as a concrete block. He wasn’t going anywhere. Steve saw a number of other Veil members to one side of Ticket, looking like they were ready to go.

Chief grinned and quickly hands moving to his waist, whipped the chain off and caught Steve across the legs without warning.

Startled Steve staggered and tried to move out of the way. “Shit, what are you doing? Fuck man! Chief! We had a deal!”

Chief didn't answer. He hefted the chain in both hands, gave it a swing and then came at him again. Steve fell back against the brick wall. The chain caught Steve across the legs again with a dull thump. He scrabbled at the chain wrapping around his knees, trying to block it with his arms. He grabbed it and pulled two handed, gloveless palms shredding. He could feel Chief losing his grip.

Chief said, struggling, “Steve, we never said you could trust us. You were the only one who thought we had a deal. Just fucking stay down for once in your life?”

“Never.” Steve came forward with an arm heavy on Chief’s throat, pushing his way out from the wall, keeping Chief and the chain off him, trying to keep an eye on Ticket. They fell forward, Steve on top of Chief, chain trapped under and between them. Chief came up with a knife in one hand.

Chain forgotten, shins and lower legs aching, Steve concentrated on the knife blade. Right hand grasping in his jacket pocket for his knife, Steve was trying to block getting stabbed in the eye with his left hand. “Shit, you are a fucker.” Steve spat at Chief. He was unable to get his knife out of his pocket with his jacket still buttoned up.

Ticket was looming closer, slowed down as he waved off a curious security guard on his way over. Steve tried to keep Ticket in view and subdue Chief. He was running out of time. Finally on top of Chief, he grabbed Chief's head with both hands and smacked him hard on the shiny floor. Chief grunted once and the knife slipped from his hand. He went limp.

Steve got up on his knees, leaving Chief on the floor “Ticket man, I do not want to do this.” Ticket grinned at him, hands open and moving forward, “I’m okay with it buddy. Come on, let’s do this.”

“Dammit Ticket, let’s not.” Steve finally got his knife out of his pocket and threw it, hitting Ticket in the neck, “Please let’s not do this.” 

“Fuck that smarts you asshole.” Ticket gurgled a bit, had his hands up at his neck, cradling the knife hilt deep in the soft muscle. He sagged to his knees.

“For now we are not doing this.” Steve repeated and took another step over to Chief on the floor. Doc was standing next to Ticket, holding him up, putting pressure on his wound, he spoke in an uncharacteristically high voice, “But what are you gonna to do man? Cops are coming. No Widow to back you up or be your clean up crew. What are you gonna do now?” No weapons in his hands though.

In any other circumstance that princess voice would have made Steve laugh. No time for that.

He answered Doc "I got a plan and it doesn't involve being beaten or taken by either you or the Viet." Steve chanced a look backwards, he could see the Viet fighting with some of Chief's guys. Curiously he caught a glimpse of a woman who looked like SoiFon fighting on the Viet's side. He really didn't have time for this soap opera.

Steve leaned down and grabbed Chief's knife lying on the floor. “The plan includes me getting out of here right now for one. So just stay out of my way for fuck's sake.” Steve started to run.  He called back over his shoulder, "I'll see what I can do about Rahc. Maybe I can get her back for you since all of us seem to be looking for the same thing."

++++++

Steve made it out the door unscathed but stupidly on the wrong side of the building from his car. He didn't have much time before that hot mess followed him out here. He loped around the side of the building moving fast and also trying to look for guys looking for a fight.

He saw the little red car and picked up his speed. What the shit? The passenger side window was busted out. Steve looked in quickly, no glass inside.

Steve ran around to the driver’s side and yanked it open, sliding in and praying no-one had screwed with the engine. Started right up, thank you little hybrid. Steve floored it getting out of there. He drove wherever, unsure of his route but trying to stay under the radar. He didn't need to get pulled over for a suspected drunk driving check. Fuck this was bad.

He wondered if he should try texting the Widow now that he didn’t have so many options. Plus he wanted to get a weapon or two out of the backseat. He thought about pulling over but he wasn't sure he was far enough away from the campus.

He felt a tap on his shoulder. "Shit!" Steve howled, he jumped, startled, "What the fuck?" Turning he caught sight of Natasha was sitting in the back seat. "What is wrong with you Steve? I lend you my car and you break the window out?" She didn't actually sound that upset.

He kind of whined, "I didn't do anything to the car. Someone broke it from the inside while I was getting beat up in there."

She smiled at him, "Steve don't tell lies, the window is broken from the inside, who was riding in this car?"

Steve shrugged, "No fucking clue. Can you tell me where am I driving now that I appear to be wanted dead by everyone in this godforsaken place?" He gripped and released the steering wheel twice while they waited for the light to change. "I just stabbed Ticket in the throat and knocked out Chief. I think one of my shins is busted. It was mayhem in there. Oh and Nhung wants the reward for me. I guess the reward is for me dead."

Natasha chuckled, "I can't take you anywhere Steve without you messing up. Here’s a weapon for you, I also have ammo. You have somewhere to put it?” She reached over the seat and handed him a handgun and a couple of clips.

Then she uncurled from the back and sat herself in the front passenger seat. " I did hear about the reward but I unfortunately for my wallet I need you alive. What do you say we go meet Rahc and then we ask her what she did with Bucky?" Then she reached forward and fussed with the radio presets to that blues station Steve had found.

She turned her head up and flipped her hair back over her ears. "Did you know your shield isn't in the back seat anymore? Do you think that's Bucky's equivalent of leaving you a little love note?"

Steve growled and hit the steering wheel in frustration, “I don’t need a fucking love note from him, I just want to know what’s going on. Why is he ransacking the car, where’s my shield and why is there a goddamned reward on me?”

Natasha said politely, looking out the broken car window, “Turn left at this intersection coming up here Steve, we need to go meet Rahc.”


	10. Well I reckon that ought to get it

“Hey, you can’t smoke in here sorry. Did you want to move out to the patio? We have some tables out in the laneway although the weather isn’t that great today. I can certainly serve you out there if you want to have a smoke.” The bartender was apologetic.

Steve tore his gaze away from the bright goldfish swimming in a brandy snifter on the bar. Its long tail cascading in waves as it swam purposefully around the tiny glass.

Steve realized that he had been snapping his lighter open and closed with his left hand and crushing his cigarette pack with his three fingered right. He put both items back down on the bar. “How much is your draft here?”

“A buck sixty five for four glasses.” She stood still for a bit waiting for his answer.

Steve arched an eyebrow and gave her a look, “You kidding me? That seems,” he paused, “a bit cheap for today’s prices other places.”

The bartender laughed, “It’s our happy hour in the afternoon. I’m happy to offer you the deal too. It isn’t pints. Only old guys come in to drink the bar draft.”

Steve smiled at that as he got up stiffly from his barstool. “You saying I’m old?”

She moved closer on the other side of the bar, pointing at the side door out to the laneway. “I take it you want the cheap draft. How many?”

Steve picked up his smokes and zippo. He put a twenty down on the bar, “That’ll do I guess. I’ll take it outside maybe? Any old guys out there now?”

“You really in need of a drink, huh. That’s a tray for sure. Hope I have enough glassware.” She turned away and started pulling small draft glasses out of the dishwasher. “I think somebody is out there already. Maybe Al. He’s pretty chatty. I’ll be out in a sec with your tray. “

Steve opened the door, squinting in the dim sun after the darkness of the barroom. He saw a guy sitting at one of two patio tables in the laneway beside the bar. Steve sat down at the second table. He nodded affably at the other guy. Older gent, elderly dog lying at his feet.

Steve lit a smoke and then checked his phone. He had been texting back and forth with Nhung, a surprisingly civil conversation considering the guy had tried to kill him yesterday when they had met in person. Nhung was negotiating with him over finding Rahc.

He claimed he wouldn’t cash in on the reward for Steve if he could find Rahc and keep her caught. Sounded like an okay plan, although maybe a little harsh to be the bait for that bitch. No support this time. Just Widow and himself this time round.

He’d have to clear it with the Widow before he agreed to anything serious though. She was off doing damage control and changing cars. The cops had been very interested in them both once their involvement with both the prison incident and the brawl at the university was identified. Apparently he was quite recognizable on security camera footage. He hadn't killed anyone though. She’d somehow managed to get the heat off them. She always did.

He put his phone back on the table and looked down at his ripped up palms. Souvenirs of Chief’s chain. He wasn’t too clear on what was going to happen with Chief. And Natasha wasn’t impressed with Chaika so he was also out for the moment.  Steve wasn’t sure how exactly they were going to avoid the Veil.

Steve took a mechanical pencil out of his jacket pocket. He turned it over in his hands. He had found it stuck in the front seat of the car yesterday. He remembered Natasha snapping the calculator in half and tossing the pieces in the parking lot. He doubted she had forgotten to deal with this piece. She just didn’t forget anything anytime. He’d look at it later. A key, a remote control, a syringe or maybe an antenna? 

Steve didn’t trust Chaika either. He tapped the pencil on the table. Chaika way too knowledgeable in what Buck had been up to in the last twenty-five years. Steve was irritated by this fact. He really needed more information about Chaika’s involvement. He guessed he’d have to get it straight from the guy himself.

Maybe saving his life would be worth a tidbit of information or two. Steve didn’t really care who the guy worked for in the past or even now for that matter. He thought he might have Chaika’s cell number in his book. Something else to set up before they left Edmonton. And to set up before Natasha gets wind of his plans to connect with the guy.

The bartender shouldered open the door with Steve’s round steel tray full of draft glasses. “Now that is a sight for sore eyes.” his patio neighbor said interestedly.

She slid the tray onto Steve’s table and waved off his offered five dollar bill as a tip. “Enjoy. Al? You need anything while I’m out here?”

His neighbor caught his eye, “I’m not sure it’s that healthy for one guy to be drinking so many drafts all alone. I’m Al and I’m happy to help with your little beer problem.” Steve smiled and slid a couple of glasses over to him. Hell, he couldn’t get drunk if he wanted to. “I’m Steve.”

The bartender headed back inside. “I’ll be back in a bit to see how you two old friends are doing out here.”

Steve sipped his first glass of draft. Shit, now that was really not artisanal craft beer but it would do. He lit a smoke and offered the pack to his neighbour. Al shook his head. “I had to quit a while ago.”

Steve flipped his zippo open and closed. Al looked him up and down, “You just out of the armed forces? That where you did that to your hand?” Steve shook his head, “Construction accident. Still getting used to it.”

Al continued, “You look like a soldier. I was a soldier a while ago. Fucked up my mind and sent me home broken.” He rustled around in his jacket pocket. He found a thin leather wallet and carefully took out an old photo. “See? That was us. Me and my brother.”

Steve took the photo gingerly with his bad hand, cigarette in the other. The guys in the photo were young, wearing army fatigues. They had crew cuts, toothy smiles, and were sitting close, arm in arm. It was hard to tell which one was Al, but one guy was looking straight out at the camera, the second guy had his head turned towards the other’s face.

“Where were you guys?”

“Vietnam. I came home. My brother was driving an ambulance back to camp the day we were supposed to come back and he got blown up.” The dog at Al’s feet yawned and shifted positions. "We signed up pretty early. Canada never joined the war so we drove down and enlisted. We were young and stupid." Al sighed, “Drink up. Such a waste.”

Steve couldn’t tell if Al was talking about the war, his brother or the draft beer. He didn’t ask for more information. He leaned over and returned the photo carefully.

He raised his glass and then reached out and clinked glasses with Al. Then he sat back, drank and smoked in silence as Al talked and talked and talked.

+++++

Al was three sheets to the wind. Steve had ordered a second tray of beers for them at some point and Al was telling jokes now.

“So the Newfie’s friend says ‘but your mom said your wife was in bed with arthritis, she’s not feeling good. Why are you so upset about her being sick?’ The Newfie stands straight up in the bar and shouts “Buddy! You don’t know that Ritis family and Art’s the worst one!”

Al laughed so hard it turned into a wheeze and a cough. The dog farted under the table and kicked one of its legs, chasing rabbits in a dream. By this time the dog had migrated over to lie under Steve’s table half across his feet.

The sun had moved away from the laneway. Steve took one more drag on his smoke and flicked the butt away. He watched the cigarette arc up and then down into the shadows. Then his phone rang. No one but Natasha and Nhung had his new number but this call showed an unknown number on his screen.

“Just a sec Al, I need to take this call.” Steve pressed the button to answer holding the phone to his ear. He stayed silent. There was no one on the line. Steve waited a heartbeat and then hung up, looking at the phone questioningly. He put it back on the table. It rang again. Unknown number.

Steve looked at the phone and leaving it on the table he pressed the answer button. Silence. The dog beneath his table woke up with a start and barked. Steve hit the button to hang up. The dog put his head back on Steve’s feet. That fleabag better not be drooling on his shoes.

He looked thoughtfully at the table. He looked across at Al, the tray filled with empty glasses, and down at the dog. “Al, I gotta go see a man about a horse.”

Al cackled, “I haven’t heard anyone say that since my pop died. Send out the bartender on your way past, I want to ask her something.” “Sure thing,” He got his feet out from under the dog, got up and rubbed his palms on his jacket. He slid his smokes and phone back into his jacket pocket.

The bar was a bit brighter now with more of the lights on. At the bar all the bottles were lit up from behind in a glowing red neon strip. He didn’t see the bartender. Steve walked back towards the gents. No one to be seen inside.

He found the men’s room down a shitty wood paneled hallway at the back of the bar. A museum piece for mid-last century tavern décor, right down to the fossilized urinal cake.  He could hear the tinny music from the main room. Sounded like an Ellington song sung by a woman. She had it bad and that ain’t good.

As he pissed, the back of his neck started prickling. He finished, shook and moved to wash his hands in the crappy sink with the kind of knobs you have to hold to keep the water running.

He dried his hands on the brown paper towel, thinking about his options. He faced the door to the bar, waiting, fully expecting it to be kicked in. Nothing happened.  He opened the door firmly and saw the bartender back over at the bar. He walked over, “Al wanted you outside when you have a minute.”

She nodded, pointing at the phone in her hand at her ear. He waved with his good hand in apology for disturbing her and started walking to the door. He heard his name called in a rasping voice from a booth on his left.

Steve stood still, “You have a tracking chip on me too Chaika? I was just thinking about you.” Chaika held up his phone, “Yes. And then I can see where exactly you are in real time on GoogleMaps.”

Steve stared at him. Chaika continued in his raspy voice, “Kidding. Bartender called me.” Chaika sat up in the booth. “That was an unfortunate few days we had there. You lost me my soldier, my job and almost my life, Rogers.”

“Seriously? The bartender? This is just a shitty small town. You know that right?”

Chaika shrugged, “You going to sic that witch on me know that you know I was a handler?” Steve slid into the booth across from him. “The Widow? Probably not. We aren't really a team. She’s more of a solo act.”

“I know where Rahc is Steve. Did you want her? If I help you get her, will you help me get the soldier back?”

“You know you can’t keep him. What do you even want him for?”

Just then Chaika’s phone rang. He looked at Steve and then picked up the call. He listened to the person on the other end. “Yes.” “You are right.” “I’ll need visual confirmation from someone physically present with a phone in that office.” “No.” “Ok.” He disconnected the call.

They sat in silence. Looking at each other warily.

++++++

Steve was in the bathroom of the hotel room shaving. Sharpening up his sideburns. Straight razor. Standing in front of the mirror in his undershirt, suspenders down. Shaving with his left hand now, holding the razor in his right made his hand hurt.

She was lying on the bed, watching him. Tapping her booted feet on the bedspread.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Steve, you just happened to be there? How is that possible?”

“Natasha, I went to the bar randomly. Talk to some old guy randomly. I have no idea how he found me there.” He turned back to the sink to wash the razor.

“So a bug on that phone you are using? I don’t believe in coincidence. And I don't trust her. She sent her lap dog to find you.” Natasha threw herself back on the pillows. “Maybe a tracker on the car. It’s got to be something we are missing.”

Steve pulled the plug on the sink. “The car’s gone. You switched it already. If there was a bug it is long gone.”

Natasha sounded pissed. “She is a very thorough bitch. She doesn’t lose things left in her care. Or someone you left with her. My money is on the Ukrainian.”

“Seriously you sound like me. Here’s my list,” Steve ticked them off on his fingers, “Rahc, Chief, Pietro, Fury, Brock.”

She laughed. “Brock is in a burn ward. God you are paranoid Steve.”

“And you are a bitch most of the time. We may be working together but you are not my friend. You have your own history with Barnes.”

She still didn’t look offended. “Back to Barnes? Bucky too childish for you now?”

“I should have just killed you. Then none of this would have happened.” Steve turned around and picked up the razor and the hand towel. He put the razor away and wiped off his face with the towel.

“Natasha, the Vietnamese guys only want her not Barnes. I need to talk to them. Chaika wants Barnes and will help us get Rahc. I already talked to him.” Steve shrugged into his shirt and started to button it up.

Natasha was sulking. “I hate that fucking guy. His technology is shit. He is stupid. A moronic lackey.”

“What did you want to keep this for?” Steve was holding the mechanical pencil in his hand.

Natasha waved her hand, asking for the object. Steve tossed it to her. “It is very simple. Even you can understand the mechanics.” She touched the top of the pencil with the eraser, “This slots into the transmitter. It’s an antenna. Total cold war James Bond silliness. It didn’t need to look like a pencil. It could have looked like a piece of plastic. Such idiocy.”

“And what was he using it for and who was he talking to with it?”

She shrugged, “Bucky’s original handlers. Well the second set anyway. The Russians. Chaika appears to be a Russian spy. He was getting information back and forth about the arm. And I guess information about what Bucky was doing for Rahc.”

“I guess not a Nationalist then.” “No shit Sherlock.”

“Well he had balls to do that under her nose in that prison. Did she know what he was?”

Natasha swung her legs off the bed. “I doubt it. I think she thought he was just the arm mechanic. Not sure how she found him or why she thought he would know anything about the arm engineering without being a past handler. I guess she fell for whatever shit he was selling. She tried to kill him for the arm not the other stuff.”

Natasha shot him a toothy grin. “And now it is all revealed dahlink!” She drawled in a terrible fake accent. She continued in her own voice, “I still hate him and I don’t think I need him. He’s too much of a risk.”

Steve got his jacket “I am going to use him to find Barnes. Chaika said he had reactivated him and fixed the arm. So while I’m looking for Barnes, I’ll see if I can get Rahc to come out of her hole.”

“You going be bait?”

“I guess you could call it that.”

“You going to live?”

“If you help me with this then yes.”

“Da nyet, of course I’ll help you. You are worth something to me.” 

Steve shot her a side glance at that crack, thinking of the reward on his head, but she looked so benignly back at him that he gave up for the moment. “Where’s the new car?”

She got up off the bed and grabbed the car keys from the bedside table. “Outside in the parking lot. Let’s go.”


	11. Been workin’ and slavin’

He turned the handful of papers he had stolen from that woman Soi Fon’s bag towards him on the hotel room desk. An old black and white photo from the papers in the envelope had caught his eye.

The photo was of a group of three men standing outside clowning around somewhere. He flipped it over. ‘1917 H. Arp, T. Zara, H. Richter (Zurich)’ was written on the back in brownish faded ink.

His heart stopped. There was the number. Buck’s serial number, 32557038, written below the middle name in that same ink. He knew it as well as his own. He paused and flipped it back to the front. He held it in his shitty hand, his fingers trembling.

Buck was only born in 1922. And didn’t get any farther east than Queens before Uncle Sam sent him Europe on their dime. That was his US Army serial number on the back. A serial number Buck only got when he enlisted in 1941.

How could Bucky be in the photo and why was his number there? The crazy date notwithstanding.

Had somebody written that number on there here and now? It looked as old as the rest of the writing. Who was poking in Bucky’s info? And what the fuck was this photo?

It was absolutely Buck in the photo. No. Shit that was impossible. The date must be wrong.

Buck was held up in the air, his legs held by two smirking men. They were all three wearing the type of suit Steve remembered burying his father in.

Hard worn brown woolen pants, bagged at the knees. Jacket with sagging pockets filled with jack knives, handkerchiefs, pencil stubs, loose coins and pocket watches. Buck was wearing a tie and sweater vest. Right hand guy had on a pale bow tie.

The guy on the left was juggling Buck’s knee, a walking stick and a cigarette in his right hand, his tongue sticking out as a joke for the photographer. The guy on the right had a better grip on Buck’s calf. Both guys had their other hands outside of the photo frame.

Buck had a hand on either guy’s shoulder and an intense expression, legs splayed wide. No problems holding his own weight up. Obviously in good shape and more like a gymnast than Steve ever remembered him being.

As a group they were looking intently at the camera squinting at the sun. Buck had his bangs flopped over his right eye, like always, hair parted on the left. He had smile on his lips. He was looking right at the photographer, almost like he was about to say something.

Steve whispered, “What were you saying Buck? I can't hear you.”

The group in the photo was standing in front of an apartment building or maybe an office block. He could see balconies behind them and a wide arched building entrance. Why the fuck did Buck look twenty in this photo dated 1917 five years before he was even born?

His head was suddenly pounding. He was focused solely on the photo and missed Natasha coming in the hotel room from the door behind him.  He jumped when she put her hand on his arm. He was startled.

“You’re completely jumpy Steve. Hey, what are you looking at anyway?” She moved in next to him to take the photo out of his hand. “Who did you get that file from? Looks like someone you know don’t it?” she said lightly, joking as always teasing him.

“Fuck Natasha, what the hell!” Steve snapped at her, reflexively moving the photo out of her reach. “When you ask me that I think you’ve seen this before.” He stared at her as if he had never seen her before.

“Tell me. Tell me now.” Without thinking, he spun around, grabbed her arm and twisted it, pulling her down in front of him by the desk. He pressed her head into his knee.

“Steve, shit, let go. I’m not going anywhere.” Natasha looked a bit panicked when she looked up and saw his face. She immediately started to shove him back with her other arm. “Let me go you fuck and I’ll tell you. Don’t make me hurt you.”

Mulishly he let her arm go and pushed her away. Steve barked at her, hands on his thighs, his voice breaking, “Sit down and tell me what you know about this shit before I do kill you. This is fucked up.”

She checked to see if he was serious. Yep. She moved to the upholstered chair next to the desk.

He pointed his right hand at her. Index finger shaking. He never normally used his bum hand when she was around. “Talk. Now.” Like he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Natasha took a breath. She hadn’t seen Steve this freaked out in a while. “So. The photo. Yeah. So Steve, have you ever heard of an industrial complex called Zug Island in the River Rouge outside of Detroit?” He stared straight at her unblinkingly. She finished lamely, “I didn’t think so.”

+++++

Steve was lying on the hotel room bed legs stretched out. Natasha was in the desk chair with her feet crossed under her.

“You expect me to believe that crap?” Steve asked her.

Natasha shrugged, “Doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. You saw Loki right? You believe in Loki don't you? You know Thor. He’s a god. And those Chitauri from outer space didn’t seem to bother you in the least. Steve, you have to be flexible with your beliefs these days.” She waited a beat. “So you haven’t seen this time thing yet. Doesn’t make it fantasy.”

“Time travel.” Steve said it like it was something that was fucking dead and stinking up the room.

Natasha said slowly, “Buddy, you were frozen in ice for forty years and here you are. You have ‘super serum’ in your body. You believe that, we all do.”

Steve shook his head, eyes closed, “Still seems fucked up. And what was the point? Zurich 1917? Away from the war. Something to do with Lenin? Why Switzerland?”

“For the time travel. They were trying it out and he got away.”

Steve leaned forward, “Seriously? How do you know all this stuff?”

Natasha said, “I’m a good listener.” She continued, “I don’t know why they sent him back there originally. That part of the file I saw was missing. But I do know that he got away and played a merry prankster for a couple of years before they found him again.”

She looked at the photo on the desk. “His handlers used numeric coding for him initially. The Soviets were the ones who made him into the Winter Soldier not Hydra. Hydra initially just used him for whatever. TZ was the start of his Hydra call sign.”

Steve looked at her, “So he used his call sign to make up a stupid name? I know who Tristan Tzara was. This photo is supposed to be from before he moved to Paris. Buck was not a writer. He wouldn't have been able to fake that. “

He shook his head again, balling his fists, “How do you fake someone already alive? And this guy died in the sixties. Who was that person? How does someone just drop in and out of a historic lived life? You got a pat answer for that?”

Natasha sighed, “I am not going to respond to that. I can’t. That information wasn’t in the file.”

She held her hands out to him, “Steve come on, relax, please. I didn’t do the time travel job. I just know about it. You have part of the file I saw a while ago. A Shield researcher was working on it, so I guess that’s a Hydra researcher if you know what I mean. They’d have access to the bigger set of files. More complete with all the handlers included.”

“Pass me the goddamn photo.” Steve’s voice was low.

Natasha handed over the photo.

Steve lay on the bed staring at the photo in his hand, occasionally flipping it over and then back again. Natasha saw him brush his fingertips over Barnes’ face every once in a while.

Natasha got up from her chair, and Steve immediately growled in her direction, “Where do you think you’re goin’?”

“I’m stretching and then I’m going to get something to drink. You are a drag today.”

“No.”

“Steve I’m going for a walk.”

“No. You have to tell me about the other papers and why that woman had them in her fucking purse.”

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “She must have stolen the file from Shield before you blew it up or she ransacked a Shield office up here somewhere. I’ve seen that file before but it had more in it at the time than what you have, although it wasn’t complete by any account. Did you look at anything else she had in the envelope? I think she’s just looking for intel on Barnes for the Viet. She probably doesn’t know or care about what he was up to 70 years ago.”

Steve corrected her. “That’s 98 years ago now.” His mouth was still tight, eyes overbright.

Natasha sighed again, “Steve. Really. Hydra is fucked up in ways you can’t even imagine. This ancient time travel shit can’t be the breaking point for you. It just can’t.”

She left the rest of that sentence left unsaid, that any part of the rest of the Hydra story would break him. Break him completely and irreparably.

Natasha threw caution to the wind, “What difference does it make if he had some trashy European artist friends before he knew you? Well, I guess after he knew you. Time travel screws me up. You know what I mean.”

She waves her hand at him, “Are you unhappy that he didn’t try to escape back to you in the States when he took off?”

Steve glowered on the bed, reaching up and turning off the wall sconce light off so he was sitting in the dark end of the room.

Natasha tried again, “His brains were probably fried at that point. He wouldn’t have remembered you. They started wiping his memory around the same time they took him from the canyon and were working on the arm.”

“And now? Why does he remember me now?” the angry voice from the bed responded.

“It was probably seeing you in person. You brought him up here. You saved him. And I also think you look exactly the same. You both do actually.” Natasha shook her head. “Are you staying here to sulk or are you coming out with me?”

“You knew him before.” Steve said flatly.

Natasha huffed, irritated, “Yes I knew him ‘before’.” She made air quotes around the ‘before’ with her index fingers.

“Tell me.”

“Oh for god’s sake Steve. You know this. He trained me in the Red Room. He taught me how to fight. I use his techniques every goddamn day. I thought you knew that. Now I really need a drink.”

“I’m coming with you.” Steve swung his legs off the bed. He tucked the photo into his jacket and left his hand in the pocket.

“You have a problem Steve.”

Steve stood up. “Yep. I have a problem that I need to solve and I need you to tell me everything you know about this idiotic time travel bullshit.” Following Natasha out, he picked up the envelope as they were leaving the hotel room and let the door swing closed behind him with a thud.

+++++

Sitting in the hotel restaurant bar, Steve had a map up on his iPhone and was looking at Detroit.

Natasha returned to their table with both hands full of vodka shots. “You still using that phone from the other day? Not sure it’s entirely safe. Those Azeri are sneaky.”

“Don't have any other options. Don’t have the cash to replace it and I need the internet.” He looked up at the shot glasses with interest. “Any of those for me?”

Natasha slid over two. “That’s all I can spare at the moment.” She took a shot and moved the empty glass over to the side of the table.

She tapped a paper on the table, “This is the schedule for the events from the same file as the photo. You can see ‘TZ’ is listed here a couple of times. I don't think they sent him to Zurich initially from this coding. What do you think?”

Steve had finished his shots and turned the paper around so he could see better. The paper contained a handwritten chart in neat German script of letter and number combinations along with dates.

“Gimme a minute,” Steve reached in his jacket for his readers. Sliding the glasses on, he noticed Natasha smirking. “You have a problem with my corrective eyewear?”

She laughed out loud at that, “You got that pair from the dollar store. I can tell.”

“Not everyone is riding the capitalist gravy train here, Natasha. I’m broke and I need to be able to see the small print.”

“Whatever, I think this one is useful too.” She took a fragile looking memo on blue onionskin paper from the envelope and put it on the table.

Steve looked at the letterhead on the memo, an energy company in Michigan. The memo was dated 1949 and made reference to an energy project located on Zug Island.

“The energy project you mentioned as actually being the freaking time machine.” Steve tapped his left thumb on the memo, “Five years after they got him. Would they have sent him out already at that time?”

Natasha looked at him, “I don't think they cared. Maybe they just wanted to get rid of him and test their time travel equipment at the same time.” She took another shot and then moved it over to join her little collection of empty glasses.

She added, “But Steve, really, tell me how this ancient history going to help us find him now? He’s gotten away again but this time he got away from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [a link](http://www.larousse.fr/encyclopedie/images/Jean_Arp_Tristan_Tzara_et_Hans_Richter/1311013) to the confusing photo Steve finds in the envelope.  
> 


	12. But I still got so terribly far to go (again)

Steve was sitting on a bundle of recycling round the back of the liquor store. The bundle was cardboard boxes compacted into a bale and it was hard under his ass. He shifted his position. He looked over at Natasha standing by the exit to the empty parking lot totally engrossed in something on her phone.

“So is she still in there?” Steve looked down at his bruised hands for a moment.

She looked up, “She’s in there. She’s looking at the sherry, Harvey’s Bristol Cream. Who even drinks that anymore?”

“What’s Nhung doing?”

Natasha bared her teeth and turned her phone screen towards him. “He’s doing what he’s supposed to. You want to take this monitoring over? Relax already.” Her phone showed the interior of the liquor store. A murky black and white security cam showed a customer in an aisle and the cashier at the counter. "The video quality is never as clear as it is on TV. A bit hard to see the details."

Steve picked at the cardboard he was sitting on. “Hey Natasha, you know that Nhung is a girls’ name in Vietnamese? I think he’s jerking our chains.”

Natasha looked over at him again. She arched an eyebrow. “So? Who hasn't already double crossed you?”

Steve answered, “Do you know what his name means? It means velvet.”

“You don’t say.” Natasha looked at him steadily. “And why would that be important?”

“Control word.”  Steve’s teeth were clenched and his eyes were narrowed. Natasha wasn’t really fond of the uptight Steve that she was getting a lot these days.

She didn’t ask him where he could have possibly learned about the Winter Soldier’s handling codes. He’d just say the internet. Recently Steve had been claiming everything he knew now was from the internet.

She answered the implied question instead, “Are you saying that this is a problem? If so it’s really bad timing. She’s in there. He’s in there. We are out here. So what do you want to do?” She lowered her phone and put her gloved hand on her hip.

“I want to go in. He’s screwing with us. She’s got to be waiting for us to jump her. No-one goes out to buy booze if they know there is a price on their head.” Steve flicked a small piece of cardboard from the bale out the door with his left hand.

“Doesn’t he have first dibs on her anyway? I though that was the deal for the little bounty problem you have yourself.” She didn’t really want to go in until Nhung or whatever his name really was had done his thing. Rahc was a serious handful to deal with.

“We could just set the store on fire and block the doors from the outside. There are only two, front and back.” Steve nodded at the jugs of cleaning solvent stored against the far wall with some mops. He brought his crippled hand out of his pocket holding his lighter.

“Steve! God you are getting mean in your old age.”

“Hey, I don’t need her alive anymore. Buck’s still on the lam. And I hate it when people lie to me.” He looked at her meaningfully. “Mr. Velvet deserves it.” He snapped the lighter open and closed.

She flicked her eyes back to the phone. Onscreen the customer was now at the counter with a bottle, the clerk turned towards the cash register. The customer leaned forward and brought her bag up to the counter, her hand in the bag. Looking for wallet? Weapon? Nhung had his hand under the counter.

“Steve, where is the car she came in?”

Steve craned his neck towards the back parking lot looking for the blue car, “Still there. She drove herself it looks like. No driver waiting in the car.”

“She never drives. We must have missed the driver. Where are they?” Natasha’s voice was rising. She hated dropping the plan but it looked like they’d have to sooner rather than later.

“Steve, find her driver and get rid of them. Check closer to the front door, I think someone is waiting for her there.” She waved her hand at him and started to walk towards the door to the store backroom behind the counter.

Steve got up and strolled out the door. Fists up and ready to roll, angry look on his face. He had some issues that one.

She glanced back at her phone. Natasha stopped moving. The black and white figures on her phone screen paused and then Nhung came up from behind the counter with something in both hands, at the same time Rahc pulled a dark weapon from her bag and touched Nhung with it, barely flat on his chest.

What was that a stun baton? A shotgun? She couldn’t see it clearly enough. She’d have to go in. She didn’t really care about Nhung at this point but unfortunately she still needed Rahc for a little longer.

+++++

Steve paused and leaned his hand against the wall of the store, panting. That was sure harder than it should have been. The driver lay on the ground where Steve had dragged him, around the corner from the front door. Steve checked his leg where it stung, the slash mark went in as a deep stab towards the back but then got more shallow across his thigh. Shit, another pair of pants wrecked.

He straightened up. Where was everyone? This mall parking lot was empty. The stores empty. Why hadn't anyone called the cops on him yet? Two guys going at it in the parking lot in plain view should have triggered some response by now. He kicked the body once more with a satisfying thud.

He checked the liquor store window although he couldn't really see in past the reflections in the glass. He thought he should probably get in there to assist.

He shrugged his shoulders back. With his jacket sleeve, he wiped the blood under his nose from an earlier lucky head butt as he walked over to the sliding glass doors.

The automatic door slid open as he limped into the store, hands out of his pockets in loose fists. Into the bright glare of the store lighting. The aisles of shining booze bottles empty of anyone. No store staff, no customers.

The fighting figures at the counter stopped moving when he walked in and interrupted them. There was a person on top, pounding the person on the bottom using a pipe or something hard and straight with the occasional spark arcing off the end on contact with the person on the bottom.

The figure on top stopped with the weapon hand up in the air as both heads turned slowly towards him.

Steve caught sight of a third body as he moved towards the counter. He couldn't see it clearly but he really doubted that was the Widow on the floor.

He came in closer to the body. Nhung was lying there, not moving. His shirt was burned off at the shoulder, with a strange wound on his torso. Didn’t look like he would be able to still be breathing. And would you look at that. He should have seen that coming. Nhung had an ugly Hydra tattoo.

He heard a harsh zap of electricity and smelled burnt flesh. His attention was pulled back to the fight on at the cash. Natasha surprisingly wasn’t doing that well. With Natasha bent over the counter backwards, hands trapped beneath her, Rahc was smiling as she pressed the stun baton down flat on Natasha’s throat.

+++++

“Steven, you know it was the least you could do to drive me home. Seeing as you and that witch killed my driver.” Rahc pointed at Natasha on the floor. "Have a seat. I need to tidy up a few items and then we will talk."

He turned around incredulously, eyes sweeping the inside of the room. He didn’t really believe it. Every surface was completely filled with deer antlers. Stacked up, tied together, hanging from the ceiling and along edge of the floor.  He left his hands in his pockets, unwilling to touch anything in the sea of horns.

He also tried to keep Rahc in sight in front of him. She was standing in the only real lighted part of the room. He was still slightly rattled from having to bring her here, having her lean in so close to give him directions to the cabin. Steve had to put Natasha in the trunk before Rahc would let him drive.

Rahc set the liquor store bag down on a side table sitting half in shadow. She took out a tall bottle, Steve couldn’t see what she had bought. Maybe she bought that sherry after all. Pale light streamed in through holes in the roofline and through some cracks in the walls. There were no windows that he could see. A single hanging light fixture hung in the centre of the room.

Natasha was slumped at his feet where he had dropped her when they first got here. He had tried to slide her into an open on the floor, her feet and legs brushing up against the antlers heaped up around them. The purple bruise on her temple was dark against her pale face but she was breathing. The singed part of her shirt showed the slight rise and fall of her chest.

Steve hadn’t decided what he was gonna do yet. He figured he could go either way with the Widow but that he’d just look like he was giving her to Rahc. He didn’t really want to leave her in the liquor store to die or get picked up by the cops.

Steve looked around a bit frustrated by all the drama. He didn't actually see a chair in the room. He had sidled up to a rusted metal chest of drawers, thin drawers like a map cabinet, so he sat on the edge of that, trying not to lean back against the antler points behind him on the top.

“We don’t have all that much to talk about Rahc. Where’s Barnes now exactly?”

"I love nature.” She smiled and ignored his question entirely. “I find this little hideaway of my colleague to be so very Canadian. Most of these antlers are sheds by the way. I don’t think he killed all of them, many of them he picked up in the bush." She said the last bit in a very singsong way stressing the ‘all’, the 'kill' and the 'bush'.

Steve just sat wondering where this conversation was going and who the hell was Rahc’s colleague.

“Your problem Steven is that you just are not organized." She looked at him with her sharp eyes below a straight cut fringe.  “You are so American, so impetuous, to always go with the ‘gut’ when a situation becomes uncomfortable.” She stopped and patted her stomach, “You move away from the plan but that so rarely works out for you.”

She was moving around the garage like outbuilding. She pulled out a locked box from somewhere and dragged it on floor to a small clear spot in front of her in the light.

She kept on talking, "Have you found your ‘Bucky’ yet? Did you think I let him go or that he escaped? I wanted you to think that Steve. M'sieur Winter is safe and with me still." She spun the lock dial on the box and flipped the lid open. She took out what looked to him like a phone. She removed one glove, swiped, entered a password and then held the phone up to her eye. It made a little electronic noise and she lowered the phone again.

“If you had just come to me in the first place. I was saving him for you. Protecting him from the others. I would have given him back to you Steve. That was the agreement we had, no?”

He cleared his throat, "Uh. Sure Rahc. That was the agreement but then you wouldn't give him back." He tried not to whine like a guilty school child caught by the teacher.

She looked at him sharply. "You didn't kill her." She nudged Natasha on the floor with her foot. "That was your task. And you so obviously failed in your task as we find that she is still here." Rahc pressed something on the phone screen and then tossed it back in the box.

"Now we will wait. You know that I have something worth waiting for still to come.” She smoothed her bangs over to the side and slid her gloved hands down the sides of her uniform skirt.

“In the meantime, you will tell me about your plans and I will think about what to do and who will pay the most for her.” Rahc kicked out at Natasha again.

“I may let you go if the money is high enough. Otherwise." She trailed off making a slight high pitched tut tut sound under her breath. She turned her back on him briefly, dragging an upholstered cushioned chair made of antlers out from the shadows.

“Let us await our visitor.” She sat herself comfortably on the chair, reaching over to uncork the bottle from the liquor store, a small glass appearing in her other hand.

The odd shadows in the antler room fell across her face, making her look to him like an evil queen upon her throne from a very nasty fairy tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle continues in ['Poison and Cupcakes'.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4807922)

**Author's Note:**

> Chain Gang (Work Song)" – Nina Simone
> 
> Breaking rocks out here on the chain gang  
> Breaking rocks and serving my time  
> Breaking rocks out here on the chain gang  
> Because they done convicted me of crime  
> Hold it steady right there while I hit it  
> Well reckon that ought to get it  
> Been  
> Working and working  
> But I still got so terribly far to go
> 
> I committed crime Lord I needed  
> Crime of being hungry and poor  
> I left the grocery store man bleeding  
> When they caught me robbing his store  
> Hold it steady right there while I hit it  
> Well reckon that ought to get it  
> Been  
> Working and working  
> But I still got so terribly far to go
> 
> I heard the judge say five years  
> On chain-gang you gonna go  
> I heard the judge say five years labor  
> I heard my old man scream "Lordy, no!"  
> Hold it right there while I hit it  
> Well reckon that ought to get it  
> Been  
> Working and working  
> But I still got so terribly far to go
> 
> Gonna see my sweet honey bee  
> Gonna break this chain off to run  
> Gonna lay down somewhere shady  
> Lord I sure am hot in the sun  
> Hold it right there while I hit it  
> Well reckon that ought to get it  
> Been  
> Workin' and workin'  
> Been  
> Workin' and slavin'  
> An'  
> Workin' and workin'  
> But I still got so terribly far to go


End file.
